In the Shadow of the Full Moon
by lionesseyes13
Summary: This story covers the adventures of Remus Lupin from his early childhood, through his years at Hogwarts, and into his time spent in the Order, and is canon compliant. Bumped up to T now owing to teen pregnanacy and references to drugs.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Unless you were absent the day that they handed out brains, you'll be aware that I, unfortunately, am not J.K. Rowling, and, therefore, Remus Lupin and any of the other characters that you may recognize from the _Harry Potter_ novels are not my property.

Reviews: I'd love to hear from you if you have the time to submit a review, especially since I've just begun this story, and I want to know if I ought to continue it, or not. I respond as promptly and as politely as possible to all signed reviews. Constructive criticism is welcome, but flames are not. (By the way, the grammatical mistakes in Remus' and Chet's dialogue are intentional, because they are so young. However, if you notice any other errors in my story, please feel free to point them out respectfully in a review, and I will fix them as soon as I can.)

Wands, Duels, and Hatreds

Remus Lupin had a list of things he absolutely detested that he carried about in his head wherever he traveled like his own personal luggage, even if his mum insisted that, at the tender age of six, he was much too young to truly hate anything. As far as he was concerned, the age argument was complete nonsense, because, after all, one didn't have to be very old, or very clever, for that matter, to know enough to loathe spinach, turnips, and sprouts, which were all clustered at the top of his mental list of the things that he hated. However, his dislike of vegetables was exceeded by his hatred of his Aunt Mildred, Uncle Brendan, and his cousin Chester, or Chet, as he was referred to familiarly.

In his mind, Remus was aware of the fact that he should not detest his father's older brother, who worked in research alongside him at the Department of Mysteries in the Ministry of Magic, but he couldn't resist the temptation to do so. He hated Uncle Brendan, because he always addressed Remus in a slow voice, as though convinced that the lad could not comprehend English, otherwise, and he insisted upon calling Remus "son", even though Remus wasn't his son, and didn't want to be, although if he was, he would have been as pampered as Chet.

As for Aunt Mildred, why in the name of Merlin did she feel compelled to pinch his cheeks so hard whenever she greeted him or bid him farewell? Also, why did she have to give him all those old clothes of Chet's, who was just two years Remus' senior, knowing fully well that he would have to squander time he could have invested in re-reading one of his favorite books scribbling a polite thank-you note to her with his mother's assistance, even though all the gratitude he felt wouldn't have been enough to fill a quarter of a teaspoon?

Still, he hated Chet the most. It was Chet who always lead him into a mountain of trouble approximately the size of Mount Everest. Only Chet could have the charisma to inspire him to dare deeds he would never have imagined doing on his own. Therefore, it was Chet whom he hated the most, because it was Chet who had the most power over him, and who made him forget how much he hated him, until he had landed him in another dangerous scrape. However, the reason he probably loathed Chet so much was that his charm wasn't limited to Remus. No, it was always Remus who was punished for their stunts, and never Chet, because Chet could always wiggle himself out of any really horrible sentence that Uncle Brendan or Aunt Mildred might have given him.

"I don't wanna go to Aunt and Uncle's house," Remus pleaded with his mother, as she bore him downstairs, so they could Floo to Aunt Mildred and Uncle Brendan's residence.

"We didn't ask if you wanted to visit them or not," his dad, who was descending the stairs behind them, reminded him.

"Aunt Mildred did," Remus pointed out. "She sent an owl asking if we wanted to come over this Saturday. I don't wanna. Wanna stay here, Daddy."

"You can't stay here," his mum informed him, as she placed him on the carpeted living room floor beside the marble fireplace. "You must come with us, because there is nobody here to care for you."

"I'll be good if you leave me here alone, Mummy, I promise," he implored, widening his hazelnut eyes like he had witnessed his cousin Chet do with his sea colored ones whenever he wanted to manipulate another person into doing whatever he desired.

"You'll be good, regardless of where you are, or you'll suffer the consequences," his dad, who had evidently lost his patience, remarked, his tone short.

Remembering with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach how Chet could always twist him into disobeying the rules, even if he knew it would earn him a time-out, or the day spent in his room without his favorite toys and books to serve as a diversion, Remus doubted that he would be as well-behaved at his Aunt Mildred and Uncle Brendan's house as he would be in his own home. However, this did not strike him as a prudent statement to make, when it could be misconstrued as evidence that he had been plotting to be naughty all day long once Chet inevitably twisted him into some wrongdoing or other, and, so he remained judiciously quiet while his parents each took one of his small hands in their own, dropped a handful of dust into the fire, and Flooed to Aunt Mildred and Uncle Brendan's.

A handful of seconds later, they had arrived at their destination, and Aunt Mildred immediately jumped out of her white leather sitting room sofa, which, Remus had learned, was surprisingly easy to stain with pumpkin juice, as he had done on several occasions when he had visited with his parents, and hugged and kissed his mother and father, exclaiming in her shrill voice how delighted she was to see them again. Then, the moment that Remus had been dreading hit, when she swooped down upon him.

"Oh, Remus, it's simply marvelous to see you again, sweetie," she trilled, bending over at the waist to pinch his cheek so tightly that his forced smile was transformed into a wince. Fortunately, she did not notice this, because she had never glimpsed one of his real grins, and so thought that his expression was the one he always wore when he was happy, which could not have been farther from the truth. "I think you've grown again, too, haven't you? Well, I'll just have to rummage through the attic again, and hunt out some of Chet's old clothes to send you once I get a chance."

"Don't wanna be a trouble to you," mumbled Remus, as he always did, already aware of her response to this. Indeed, as he had anticipated, Aunt Mildred waved this aside, assuming it was a matter of politeness, rather than of desperation.

"It is no problem at all, love," she reassured him, and then she finally stepped back to permit her husband, who had shoved himself out of his corner lounge chair, to greet his younger brother and sister-in-law.

"Hello, Maggie doll." Uncle Brendan's voice was slow and deep as he kissed Remus' mum on each cheek, and Remus watched with disgust as his mother returned the regard, although her voice was far softer and more pleasant, and she deserved to kiss someone better than Uncle Brendan on the cheek. Once he was finished with greeting Remus' mum, Uncle Brendan focused upon his brother, whom he clapped on the back in a gruff welcome. "Hey, Robby boy, it's been a long time, no see—since yesterday at work."

Before Remus' dad could reply, Uncle Brendan had turned his attention upon Remus, instead, something that did not prompt the boy to go into spasms of delight. "Hello, son," he commented, ruffling his hair in what must have been intended as an affectionate gesture, just as Remus saw him do with Chet.

When Uncle Brendan stepped back, he indicated that his son should come forward to greet the visitors, but Chet, who was curled up like a panther in a chair on the other side of the room, merely waved a languid hand at them by way of a welcome, and then returned his attention to staring at the sky-blue walls engulfing them all. Unlike Remus' father, who would have scolded his child for this display of direct disobedience, Uncle Brendan only chortled and shrugged, as though this behavior was not only acceptable, but adorable. Remus felt his hatred of his cousin rear its ugly head once again, and he did nothing to suppress it.

"Please be seated, and help yourself to some appetizers." Aunt Mildred directed her three guests into the sofas surrounding the oak coffee table that was in the center of the living room, on which a platter arrayed with carrots and celery with some sort of creamy dip on the side, and some cheddar cheese and crackers rested. Next to the plate, was a bowl of Aunt Mildred's homemade punch, which, Remus knew from experience, tasted like medicine he got from the Healers when he had a cough.

While his mother and father ate the carrots and celery, Remus nibbled away at the cheese and crackers, not caring if Chet would mock him for looking like a mouse later on. After a couple of minutes, Chet deigned to approach the coffee table to grab some cheese and crackers for himself, and when he came over, his mum suggested, "Chet, honey, why don't you take Remus upstairs, so that the two of you can have some fun playing together?"

"All right," agreed Chet. Pivoting about to regard Remus, he added, "I gotta new potions set from Dad last week. Wanna come up to my room with me, and see it? We could have lots of fun messing around with it."

Envisioning all the explosions that could result from fiddling around with a toy potions set with Chet, Remus shook his head, figuring that he could not be responsible if the house blew up, if he was not in the vicinity of the potions set when the house shot up into space like one of those silly Muggle rockets Dad had shown Remus once in a Muggle newspaper.

"Well, I'm gonna go upstairs to play with it, even if you don't wanna come with me," Chet asserted, before darting from the room with his sleek blonde hair bouncing up and down as he departed.

After Chet left, the four adults appeared to forget that Remus was among them, for they began yammering on about the rising influence of a group of evil people called Death Eaters, who seemed to enjoy torturing and murdering other beings the way most people liked to play Quidditch or curl up with an excellent book, and the growing influence of a terrifying and shadowy figure whom they called You-Know-Who was having upon the government. Personally, Remus found it very vexing that they babbled on at such length about this You-Know-Who lunatic without even mentioning his name once. How come everyone else seemed to understand who he was, when Remus had no clue who he was?

Since he was so clueless about the topic of discussion, he soon lost interest in the conversation, and, since he had run out of crackers and cheese to much on, he sighed, and determined that involving himself in Chet's latest scheme was better than dying of boredom. When he reached this conclusion, he pushed himself off the sofa, and left the room without saying good-bye, figuring that it would be ill-mannered to interrupt the adults, when they were engaged in such a riveting discussion, for such a trivial matter. After he exited the living room, he proceeded down the narrow hallway, which was lined with mirrors, and then climbed the staircase at the end of it. When he arrived at the second floor landing, he turned left, and entered Chet's bedroom.

It transpired that Chet was not playing with his potions set, although the fact that vials were strewn about the floor perhaps attested to the fact that he had done so previously, had gotten bored with it, and had been too lazy to clean up afterwards. Instead, he was jumping up and down on his bed, and he didn't stop, or even look guilty when Remus appeared, and Remus scowled, because he knew that his parents would put him in time-out if he jumped on his bed, and that, if he did not put his toys away, they were likely to end up in the rubbish bin.

"Get outta my room," Chet ordered when he spotted his younger cousin.

"You told me I could come up here earlier," protested Remus.

"And you said that you didn't wanna come up with me," Chet countered, still jumping up and down, like a vertical pendulum.

"Changed my mind."

"Too late."

"I'm bored," whimpered Remus.

"Not my problem."

"You always know how to have fun." A faint note of desperation entered Remus' voice, although he had tried his best to suppress it. "I wanna have fun."

Chet didn't answer for a long moment, and Remus was afraid that his cousin was ignoring him in an attempt to drive him of, but then Chet asked in an offhand tone, "Ever been in a duel?"

"No. Don't have a wand."

"You can get a wand, idiot," Chet informed him.

"Not until I'm eleven." Remus shook his head in negation.

"Borrow your dad's wand, or your mum's, stupid." As he established as much, Chet rolled his eyes as if Remus was an utter imbecile not to have realized this on his own.

"They won't let me. Say I'm too young to use one."

"Don't ask for it, prat," snorted Chet. "Just sneak up on them when they're busy, and slip it out of their cloak."

"I'd get in trouble," pointed out Remus. "Don't wanna be in trouble."

"Well, if you care so much about not getting punished, then you'd better get outta here now, because I don't wanna play with a baby, and the only thing I wanna do with you now is a real Wizarding duel."

"We don't know any real magic," Remus argued. "We couldn't even duel, even if we stole wands."

"We'd learn it as we went along, idiot." Chet gave a particularly high jump on his bed to emphasize this contention.

Remus sighed, feeling the frustration that his cousin alone inspired in him, because Chet was one of those rare people it was impossible to refuse. He had charisma. He made you care what he thought of you, and then he used that caring to his advantage, and that was how he manipulated Remus. Even if he couldn't articulate this, Remus sensed that this was the case, but he was helpless to stop it. Chet had him trapped, and it was Chet who had all the power in their relationship, and he was hardly likely to relinquish it.

"All right," Remus mumbled by way of a concession at last, "I'll go downstairs with you, and steal a wand from my parents."

"Whatever." Looking indifferent, Chet bounded off his bed, and tip-toed with the quiet grace of a cat down the stairs and through the hall with Remus edging along as silently as he could in his wake. When they arrived outside the living room, they saw that the adults were still deeply engaged in their conversation, and Chet muttered, "Good. They're busy."

Then, he sauntered over to his dad, and slipped onto his lap, while Remus, following his cousin's lead, crossed the room, and settled himself on his father's lap, as well. Their parents acknowledged their presence with pats on the heads, and soon returned to their conversation, which was still centered around You-Know-Who, and Death Eaters, and depressing stuff like that. His eyes riveted on Chet, Remus watched his cousin's hand creep into his dad's cloak, and withdraw the wand he stowed there. Copying Chet's movements, Remus stuck his hand into the pocket that he knew held his father's wand, and pulled it out, his heart beating so loudly that surely his dad heard it, or felt it.

Apparently, he didn't, and Remus was able to retreat out of the room behind his cousin. When they got upstairs, Chet arranged them on opposite ends of the room. They had just finished bowing to each other as Chet declared they ought to do, because that was what grown-up witches and wizards did prior to a formal duel, when shouts reached them from the floor below.

"Where on earth did my wand go?" yelled Uncle Brendan.

"And where did mine go?" Remus heard his father's voice sound through the ceiling, and he trembled, because his dad's voice was furious. Yes, this had definitely not been one of his more brilliant ideas. In fact, it wasn't even in the top hundred, or even thousand. Why, oh why, in the name of Merlin and Dumbledore and every other wise white-bearded wizard that had inhabited this planet since the dawn of time, did he always allow Chet to lead him into trouble? Why couldn't he be a good boy? Why did he have to play the Adam to Chet's Eve, or the Eve to Chet's serpent?

Remus barely had the chance to emit a moan before two feet charged up the stairs, their steps heavy, and raced into Chet's bedroom.

"What is going on here?" snapped Remus' father, walking over to his son, and wrenching the wand out of his hand, as Uncle Brendan relieved Chet of his wand.

"Chet wanted to have a duel, Daddy," Remus explained, his tone barely above a whisper. He stared at the floor, knowing that he was going to receive a lecture, and probably a dreadful punishment, as he heard Uncle Brendan tell Chet to just ask to borrow the wand next time, so that Uncle Brendan could be sure that he didn't accidentally use magic with it, and that it was not a good idea to engage in a duel with his cousin when they both didn't know magic. Still, he couldn't resist glancing at Chet as he left the room beside Uncle Brendan, and he knew by the other lad's smirk that he was not repentant in the slightest, and that he would probably continue similar behavior in the future. And he wouldn't be punished for it. Life was so, so unjust, and most of its injustices happened to Remus, in yet another display of unfairness.

Unfortunately, his dad noticed that his eyes were trailing Chet out of the bedroom, and he shook the boy. "Pay attention to me, not Chet. Now, what could possibly have made you think it was okay to steal my wand?"

"Borrowed," faltered Remus, "not stole."

"Borrowing without permission is the same as stealing," his father educated him. Although his voice was stern, there was a trace of dry amusement glittering in his brown eyes, though Remus knew better than to count upon that. "Now, answer the question."

"Chet wanted to have a duel, and we needed wands," repeated Remus, staring at the floor again.

"And you decided that it was a good idea to take mine." Since it wasn't a question, Remus elected not to reply. Shaking his head, his dad continued, "Remus, wands are dangerous things. They channel a witch or wizard's power, and you do not yet have enough maturity to handle that power. That is why you are supposed to wait until you are ready to go to Hogwarts, where you will be trained to harness your magic properly by educated professors who have an idea of what they are doing. That is why you are not supposed to play around with my wand, or your mum's wand. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, Daddy." Remus nodded, though he did not comprehend some of the larger words, such as "harness", but he did not want to seem disagreeable at the moment. It would be best if he acted apologetic, quiet, and obedient at this point, so that he wouldn't dig himself a deeper hole, or grave, for that matter.

"Since you were untrained, you ran the risk of injuring your cousin forever," his dad's lecture went on. "You had no control over your power, and so anything could have happened to him. Also, since your cousin has never been to school, either, anything could have happened to you, as well. Do you still follow me?"

"Yep, Daddy." Again, Remus nodded, figuring that he got the gist that he and Chet could have accidentally hurt each other, although he would not have been devastated if he had injured Chet. Still, it wouldn't be good if Chet had wounded him, so this Wizarding duel thing wasn't exactly an adventure that he was looking to repeat. A feeling of hope was developing inside him, too, because it seemed like all he was going to get was just a lecture, and that wasn't so bad. It wasn't a time-out, or time in a bedroom without any source of entertainment, or going to bed without supper, or an early bedtime, or a spanking, or any other degree of punishment. It was just a temporary assault on the ears, and then it was over, as long as he wasn't stupid enough to make the same mistake again, because his dad had a long memory, and would remember this offense, so if he did it again, he would have a harsher punishment for having been let off this time.

"Good. You can think about it in the corner when we get home, and you'll have plenty of time to do so, because you won't be joining your mum and I for supper, and you'll be staying there until bedtime," his dad ruled, and Remus mentally kicked himself, an astounding feat, for jinxing his luck, and complained inwardly about the cruelty of a father who would wait until the last minute to deliver the zinger, instead of handling it first thing.

When Remus and his parents got home an hour later, Remus went to the time-out corner, as he was supposed to. However, he did not think about the duel. All he thought about was how much he loathed Chet, and Uncle Brendan. He wanted something dreadful to happen to them, like being killed by a rampaging hippogriff, or being gobbled up by a Welsh Green dragon.


	2. Chapter 2

Whispers in the Night

"Tell me a bedtime story, Mummy," requested six-and-a-half-year-old Remus Lupin, as the addressed finished tucking him in. It was eight o'clock in the evening, which meant it was time for his nightly stalling before bed, and the growing chill in the late September air made thicker blankets necessary.

"I just read you your favorite Beedle Bard tale," Mrs. Lupin reminded her son with an indulgent smile.

"But I want you to tell me one, not read me one," pouted Remus. "Just tell me a short story, please."

"What story do you want to hear, then?" capitulated his mother.

"I want to hear the story of my name," Remus replied.

"The story of your _name_?" echoed an astonished Mrs. Lupin.

"Yes, Mum, Chet said that I had an odd name, and…" Remus began, but his mum caught him off, swelling in indignation.

"That wasn't very nice of him! You have a fine name!"

"But my name isn't a common one," continued the little boy, "and I wanna know why you chose it for me. Why didn't you just call me something normal?"

"Your dad picked it out," explained his mother. "He stumbled across it in Roman mythology, and, since he's a Ravenclaw, he had to choose a name for his son that would reflect his understanding of classical mythology."

As he considered this, Remus frowned thoughtfully, and, then, he hedged, "There are probably a lot of names in myths."

"Yes." Mrs. Lupin bobbed her head in confirmation of this statement.

"So, why did Daddy chose this one for me?" he pressed. "What's the story of the guy I was named after?"

"I'm not certain that it is appropriate for such little ears," his mum sighed. "After all, the story of your namesake is filled with the bloodshed, brutality, and the beauty that is characteristic of every aspect of Roman culture." When her son shot her puppy eyes, she allowed, "Well, I suppose that I can sensor it down a bit for you, if you'd like."

"Oh, yes, please, Mummy." Remus nodded energetically. "I'll be good, and quiet, and won't interrupt at all, I _promise_."

"Very well. A long, long time ago, before Christ was born, and before Rome was even built, there was a king in the land that would later become Italy," his mother began, "and this king had a son and a daughter. When his daughter was in her early teenage years, the king sent her off to live as a priestess, because, back then, people believed in many different gods, and goddesses, and spirits. Priestesses were supposed to not―um, fall in love with anyone―just like our priests today aren't. However, the princess fell in love with the Roman god of warfare, Mars, and they ended up having twin boys, Remus and Romulus, in which order, nobody knows, a fact that you'll soon see is very important. Anyway, during the time that the princess was pregnant with the children of Mars, the old king, her father, passed away, and her brother took the throne, and ordered that Remus and Romulus be killed, because he was afraid that they would one day steal his crown away from him, a fear that might have been reasonable, given later events, as you'll see. So, the new king ordered that his sister's sons be thrown into a large river, and everyone assumed that they had drowned. However, the boys survived, because the current bore them ashore. While they laid in the sand and the reeds, a she-wolf approached them―"

"Oh, no," whispered Remus, who had been captivated by this tale from antiquity.

"However, the she-wolf adopted them as her own pups, and cared for them in the woods, until they were old enough to learn about their lineage. Then, the two young men began to mass an army of followers to overthrow their uncle, as a means of revenge. Once they defeated their uncle, they were left with the control of the land that would later be called Italy. Sadly, though, they could not agree on who should be king, because they did not know who was older, and the older son was supposed to be the one who inherited everything―"

"Why didn't they just split it?" Remus interjected, forgetting his earlier pledge not to interrupt.

"They were afraid that dividing it would weaken the kingdom, and their own power," responded Mrs. Lupin. "Anyway, the two of them consulted a wise man, and the wise man directed them each to stand on two hills that faced each other, and the one who spotted a greater number of stronger birds would deserve the crown."

"Who won?" Remus demanded, his eyes wide with excitement.

"The ancients had a difficult time figuring it out," his mum educated him, "because while Romulus sighted more birds, Remus spotted healthier birds. Each of the twins were convinced that they had won the challenge, and each had supporters that sided with them. Soon, the twins were each leading their armies into battle against each other, and for awhile there was a stalemate between the two forces. Then, Romulus called a truce meeting with his brother, and when his twin crossed the lines, he had his men murder Remus, and he was left in control of Italy, and he built the city of Rome where his army had emerged victorious."

"I don't like that story," Remus scowled after a moment's thought. "Romulus cheated, and nobody cared. That's bad. I wouldn't follow someone like that."

"Neither would I," Mrs. Lupin chuckled, leaning forward to kiss her son goodnight on the forehead, "but neither of us are Romans, and most Roman leaders have a history of shedding somebody's blood before they come to power. Now, I hope that you won't get nightmares, since I'm not entirely sure I ought to have told you that story."

"I won't get nightmares." Yawning, Remus rolled over on his side, and curled himself up into a ball, which was, in his opinion, a more comfortable sleeping position. "Good night, Mummy."

"Good night, Remus," she answered, as she left, flicking out the lights with a twitch of her wand when she did so.

Not long after Mrs. Lupin left his bedroom, Remus fell into a deep slumber, in which he was the Remus of old, but this time he beat Romulus in a fair fight before his brother could cheat. The dream Remus was just about to build a capital of his kingdom that was not going to be called Rome, after Romulus, when a resounding knock on the front door at around midnight awakened him with a jolt, because he was not accustomed to people visiting at this hour of the night.

Apparently, the rap on the door woke his father, as well, because Remus could hear the distinctive tread of his dad's feet descending the stairs at top speed. Then, through the rafters, he heard Mr. Lupin asking who was there, and a shouted response. Even though, he couldn't hear the name of the person who had come calling at this insane hour, Remus suspected that it was someone friendly, not one of the new Death Eaters, because the sound of the door creaking open reached Remus' ears, and then the hushed voices of his father speaking with Uncle Brendan could be discerned, although the words themselves were audible.

Curious, Remus wiggled out of bed, gasped when his bare feet made contact with the cold floorboards, and tip-toed to his door, which he opened as slowly and as quietly as possible, and then crept downstairs into the living room where Mr. Lupin was chatting with his sibling. As Remus ducked behind a lounge chair near the entrance into the main hallway, Uncle Brendan was muttering to his frowning brother, "The Death Eaters just finished paying me a visit. They want that potion that we've been working on for years, and have just perfected."

"Well, they can't have it," growled Remus' dad. "We won't hand a potion that will allow them to force people to tell the truth more effectively than any other so far. The power they could derive from something like that is too great, and we shall choose how our research will be used, thank you very much…"

"I told them as much when they came calling, Robby," Uncle Brendan replied, "and they offered me a handsome profit to sell it to them, and I suggested that they would do better to employ their Galleons in an attempt to buy back their souls from Satan."

At this point, Remus' foot accidentally brushed against the wooden foot of the chair he was concealing himself behind, and the sound reverberated throughout the room. Remus was positive that he was going to be in so much trouble for eavesdropping, something that he was regretting doing now, because he had not comprehended a majority of what his father and his uncle had been speaking so somberly about, yet his dad's eyes only darted in his direction for a second or two, and then focused on Uncle Brendan again.

As Remus snuck out of the sitting room, taking advantage of the wonderful opportunity to flee before he got caught, he could make out Mr. Lupin telling his brother to feel free to come calling at any time of the day or night, or to send an owl anytime he needed help. Somewhat puzzled by his father's final comment, Remus crawled back into his bed, as the front door slammed behind his departing uncle. Once Uncle Brendan had left, Remus listened as his father climbed up the stairwell, and his stomach dropped when his dad turned into his room, rather than the master bedroom. Drat, his dad had figured out that he had been eavesdropping, and that was not a good thing!

His heart pounding at about a hundred kilometers an hour, Remus willed himself to remain motionless, and not to squirm, or breathe heavily, as Mr. Lupin crossed over to stand beside his bed. Unfortunately, his dad wasn't tricked.

"Remus John Lupin, put your foot in my hand," his father ordered, and, reluctantly, Remus slid his still chilled from the cold floor foot into his parent's waiting palm, which was pleasantly warm, although Remus would still have preferred cold feet to being caught, especially because his bed would have heated his feet up quite nicely eventually.

"As I thought," remarked Mr. Lupin, rubbing his son's foot to bring some heat back into it. "You've been eavesdropping." Figuring that this was a hard allegation to deny when his feet were quite damning evidence that he had been out of bed quite recently, Remus made no reply, as his dad demanded, "Did you understand anything that your Uncle Brendan and I said to each other?"

"Nope, Dad." Remus shook his head. It was the truth, because he understood his father and uncle about as well as he would if they had been conversing in Gobbledegook.

For a minute, he imagined that his dad's face relaxed, before the man messed up his hair, and grunted, "Get back to bed, then, you little minx― it's past midnight. Don't let me catch you eavesdropping again, because nothing good ever comes of listening in on other people's conversations. After all, curiosity killed the cat, and those who poke their noses in other people's affairs often find that their noses get lobbed off."

Before Remus could respond, Mr. Lupin had rubbed his hair one last time, and then left the room. As he drifted off to sleep, Remus thought that curiosity might have killed the cat, but satisfaction must have resurrected it, and with the information one learned from eavesdropping surely one could reattach a chopped off nose.

It was barely a week later when Remus was awakened in the middle of the night by a sound that he had never heard before. It bore an uncanny resemblance to a dog's howl, and it took a second for him to register that it was the sound of his dad crying. Wondering what could possibly have inspired such anguish in his father, Remus leapt out of bed, and dashed across the hallway, into the master bedroom, where Mr. Lupin's head was buried in the palms of his hands, and his wife was patting him on the back, trying to comfort him.

"What's the matter, Dad?" Remus frowned, nervous because he had never imagined that his dad could wail like this. Tears seemed beneath him, somehow. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing you can fix, son. Nothing anyone can fix," muttered Mr. Lupin. He pointed at a crumpled piece of parchment that had been tossed onto the otherwise tidy floor, as though it were responsible for spreading some horrid plague. "My older brother—your Uncle Brendan—is dead."

As soon as the words emerged from his mouth, sobs wracked Mr. Lupin's slender frame, and his spouse wrapped her arms around him, murmuring consolations that Remus couldn't hear. While he watched his mum comfort his father, Remus felt himself drowning in an ocean of shame and remorse.

How could he have been so stupid? Didn't he know enough to be careful of what he wished for? He had wanted something horrible to happen to his uncle, and his cousin, and it had. It was all his fault that Uncle Brendan had died, and, as aggravating as the man had sometimes been, he had not deserved to die. Nobody should have to be buried in a hollow bit of wood, surrounded forever by dirt, instead of being able to run free, and play, and eat, and laugh, and read like everyone else. Death was the absence of life, as far as Remus could tell, and, although life could sometimes be no fun when you were being punished, the idea of never experiencing it was discomfiting. Being alive was all he knew, and it was all he wanted to know. And it was on Remus' conscience that Uncle Brendan was now going to have to be buried in the dirt in a nasty old wooden coffin. Worse still, Remus was to blame for making his father cry.

"I'm sorry," Remus muttered, feeling salt water well up in his eyes.

"It's not your fault," answered Mr. Lupin.

However, this just made the pain Remus was experiencing worse, because he had been the one to wish for something dreadful to happen to Uncle Brendan, and that was why the man was dead. All of this mess was his fault.

The guilt burst the dam inside his eyes, and the moisture that had collected there began to trickle down his cheeks. Spotting this, Mrs. Lupin released her husband, and hugged her son instead. She squeezed him for a moment, and then commanded, "Go back to bed now, dear. It's late, and tomorrow we'll have to go shopping in Diagon Alley to purchase you some black dress robes for the funeral, since it is only two days away."

Obediently, Remus returned to his bed, but he did not sleep well, because he was plagued by images of his Uncle Brendan being buried in a hole in the ground, and when he finally fell asleep, it was as the sun was starting to rise, and he only snoozed for four hours. Then, his mother came in, and woke him, so that he could get dressed, and eat breakfast before they set out on their shopping expedition to find clothing Remus could wear to his uncle's funeral.

The day passed in a blur of exhaustion, with Remus trying on various dark colored dress robes with a complete lack of enthusiasim. It wasn't until about five o'clock in the evening that Mrs. Lupin was satisfied with how a dress robe looked on him, and they were finally able to return home for dinner. Despite his weariness, however, when Remus collapsed upon his bed, he discovered that once again, sleep refused to come to him. Again, images of Uncle Brendan's burial infested his mind like ants swarming about on a picnic lunch, and he couldn't drift off to dreamland. It seemed that God and Uncle Brendan were going to torture him for killing his uncle, and it appeared that they wouldn't do so during the day, when he could push off such torments in the light, but in the darkness of the night, when the demons outside and inside a person could rely on the darkness for protection. Obviously, sweet dreams would never again be his Remus thought, as he finally drifted into a fitful slumber as the sun began to rise on the morning of Uncle Brendan's funeral.


	3. Chapter 3

Farewell

When Remus, decked out in his new black dress robes, and feeling somewhat stiff as a result of this, arrived at Uncle Brendan's house for the wake and the funeral in the company of his mother and father, he was astounded by the transformation that had overcome the residence since he had last visited there. Cardboard boxes that Mr. Lupin frowned at the sight of lined the hallway that they followed into the sitting room, where Aunt Mildred was presiding over the wake from an armchair to the right of where her late husband was laid out, tears flowing like salt water streams down her cheeks.

His own eyes moist, Remus' dad led his family over to his sister-in-law, something that Remus did not appreciate, because it afforded him a closer look at his uncle, which meant that he was confronted by the man's ashen, blank face, and expressionless eyes. Once he was standing before the new widow, Mr. Lupin muttered, "Thank you, Mildred. You were a marvelous wife to my brother—he told me so on countless occasions—and you made him very happy, so thank you."

"It was my pleasure," whispered Aunt Mildred, burying her head in her palms. "Always, it was my pleasure, Robby. I wanted nothing more than to love him, and be loved in return, and I wish that we had more time together. He was a great husband, you know."

"He was a good older sibling, too," her brother-in-law remarked in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, he loved you very much." At this point, Aunt Mildred paused to dab at her eyes with her handkerchief, and it appeared that she finally registered Remus' presence for the first time, for she addressed him, "Hello, baby."

When Remus mumbled a "hello" back, she went on, "It's so sweet of you to come to your uncle's funeral. He was always very fond of you, you know?" Without providing him with an opportunity to respond to this astonishing statement, Aunt Mildred babbled on, "He claimed that you reminded him of your daddy when he was a young boy, and they were growing up together, and Brendan loved Robby as much as any brother in the history of civilization ever has."

Before Remus could stutter out an appropriate reply to such a revelation, Aunt Mildred continued, "Would you do me a major favor, dear heart?"

"Sure," Remus agreed, determining that it would be callous to refuse the request of the woman whom he had so devastated with his foolish wish that a grievous injury be done to her husband, and her son.

"You're such a sweetie." Offering him a wet smile, she pinched his cheek in what she deemed as an affectionate gesture, even though it made her nephew feels as if a thousand mosquitoes were assailing the exact same slab of flesh simultaneously. "Would you please go over and sit with your cousin Chet for awhile? His daddy's death has cut him deeply, you see, and he won't speak with any of the guests who have striven to comfort him, but he had always been close to you, and you might be able to cheer him up a tad."

"I'll go over to him," Remus answered, and was instantly overwhelmed with the feeling that what he had just done was comparable to the mouse imprudently agreeing to pay a social call upon the cat. Still, it was too late to retreat now, so the only course of action available to him was to advance, hopefully with enough confidence to convince Chet to search for easier prey.

With this in mind, he navigated a winding pathway through the clusters of mourners who knew Uncle Brendan from the Ministry, who were sharing memories of the man who had just passed away. This was an experience Remus would have given away his favorite books and toys to avoid, because it pained him to see how many lives his uncle had impacted, which, for some reason, reminded him of the ripples a pebble produced when tossed into a pond, with his uncle being the pebble. As he crossed through the room to reach Chet, Remus contemplated vaguely how a just God could decide it was moral and fair to wound so many beings just to punish one stupid little boy, who had made a rash wish in a moment of temper, a flash of weakness.

By the time he had plopped onto the sofa on the side of the living room opposite Uncle Brendan's corpse, settling himself on Chet's left, he was already chiding himself for harboring this blasphemous sentiment. After all, God was much wiser than he could ever hope to be, and he could not hope to comprehend God's mysterious workings anymore than a dung beetle could dream of understanding a human's, assuming, of course, that dung beetles were capable of dreaming at all.

Glancing at his cousin, who had rested his chin in his hands, and was staring off into space with a distant expression in his eyes that was eerily reminiscent of Uncle Brendan's, and noting how diminished Chet appeared in the wake of his father's death, Remus realized that he had been an idiot to be afraid of the other boy. Really, Chet was just a shipwrecked sailor on the colossal ocean of life, and was merely a pawn in the hands of the master chess player that was fate, just like Remus was, and he had recently been buffeted by a massive wave, and was struggling not to drown.

"I'm so sorry," Remus mumbled.

"Stop talking like a grown-up, or shove off, before I punch you in the mouth." Chet's voice was thicker than was typical with him, and he refused to look at his cousin.

"But--But I am sorry, because I killed your father," stammered Remus. Frankly, he was taken aback that he possessed the requisite courage, or insanity, to make this confession, but he was equally surprised at the sense of serenity, the relief at finally getting some of the burden of his darkest secret off his chest, that flooded him, once he admitted to his heinous crime.

"Yeah, right, and I'm responsible for building Hogwarts single-handedly in a previous life," snorted Chet, rolling his eyes. "God, Remus, just when I think that you couldn't possibly be any stupider you go and make a comment like that, and prove me wrong."

"It is my fault that your dad is dead," Remus insisted, keeping his voice low, because he didn't want someone to overhear him, and report him for murder. Murderers were carted off to Azkaban, and he didn't desire to go there, because there were dementors there, and, if Chet's description of dementors was even halfway accurate, dementors were awful organisms that he would be content to live out the entire span of his existence without ever encountering so much as one of. "I wished that something horrid would happen to you and your daddy, because it was your idea to steal the wands to duel with, and Dad put me in time-out for it, but Uncle Brendan did nothing to punish you."

"Yeah, Dad never could punish me. I wish that I hadn't taken advantage of him so much, and that I had been a better son, but how was I supposed to know that he was going to die on me? I thought I would have him forever," muttered Chet, more to himself than to his companion.

His words discomfited Remus, because he had always perceived his dad as being immortal, but Chet's comment made him confront the horrible notion that one day his father would die, and there was nothing in the world that he could do to prevent it. Fortunately, he was distracted when Chet added, "Well, you can stop feeling guilty, idiot, because it wasn't you that killed him."

"Yes, it was." Exasperation was starting to shade Remus' tone. "Haven't you been listening to anything that I've said?"

"I have, and it doesn't make any sense at all, as usual." Chet's voice lost its mocking quality, and took on a steely glint that Remus had never before detected in his cousin's speech. "He was murdered by Death Eaters, Mummy told me so. They wanted some potion that he and your father had been working on, but Dad refused to give it to them, and they were angry, and so they killed him in revenge."

Uncle Brendan had been murdered—killed by Death Eaters, since he had refused to give into their demands? Remus felt his respect of the man rise several notches. It would take a considerable amount of courage to not accede to the orders of the dark wizards when faced with the threat of death, and his uncle had done that. He had been determined not to permit the knowledge that he had uncovered be used for ill, and he had died for that...there couldn't be a much more noble end than that. As this thought entered Remus' brain, he considered what it was like to die. Did you suffer at the end? Did you wonder if there would be nobody to remember what you had done, and what you had sacrificed? Or did you just feel nothing, as a gradual numbing indifference overcame you, and you surrendered to the ultimate darkness? Or did you just see the light of heaven, and walk ever closer to it, unaware that you would never see the rest of this world again? Well, he supposed that he would never know until he died himself.

"Mum's totally freaked out by Dad's murder," Chet established a little shakily, "and she wants to get away from England, because there's nothing left for us around here, she says."

"Leave England?" repeated an appalled Remus, thinking that if Chet and his mother really were leaving the country, then that explained why he had spotted the cardboard boxes on the way inside, and why his father had frowned at them, because, doubtlessly, his dad wanted his sister-in-law to remain in Great Britain. "But where on earth will you go?"

"To where everyone goes to escape persecution and stuff in their homeland," grunted Chet.

"And where is that?" Remus frowned in bemusement.

"America." Chet shrugged. "The land of promise for everybody."

"America?" echoed Remus, aware that his comrade would probably tease him for sounding like a parrot, but he couldn't help himself. He was too astonished to do anything else.

"Say something useful, or don't bother talking," commanded the older lad, "but, yes, Mum and I are going to America, more specifically Rhode Island, in a small, suburban town outside of Providence where her brother's family lives, and where she can settle in with them for as long as she needs to make a new start. Mum's already secured us the papers we need to take refuge there, and we should be leaving sometime next week, when she's finished sorting everything out from Dad's death."

"What will you do about school?" Remus' forehead knit. "You can't go to Hogwarts when you're eleven if you live in the United States, can you?"

"No, but they have schools there," Chet informed him, as though this were a ridiculous inquiry. "They need to have several schools scattered throughout their country, because it is so big, and everything, but I think the nearest one is in Boston. That's where my cousins go, anyhow, I believe."

"But it won't be the same as going to Hogwarts." Remus couldn't imagine not being able to attend Hogwarts. To him, it sounded like the best place on earth, thanks to his father's and his mother's descriptions of it. The ceiling in the Great Hall was a mirror image of the sky outside, and the library was loaded with all sorts of books covering every subject known to mankind, and then some. According to his dad, the Ravenclaw Tower had the best view of the school grounds, and, according to his mum, the Hufflepuff common room was always filled with laughter, and friendly Wizard chess and Exploding Snap tournaments. There were Quidditch games to watch, and House points to earn. In the third-year and beyond, there was Hogsmeade to tour, with its pubs, and the historical inn, and Honeydukes. If he couldn't go to Hogwarts, he would be devastated, because he had dreamed of going there since he was knee high to a grasshopper.

"It won't," confirmed Chet softly, "but I don't have to worry about that yet, because I won't be shipped off to school for awhile. What I have to worry about now is my cousins."

"Your cousins?" Remus arched an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Because they're all older than I am, and two of the three are boys," Chet mumbled, "and they'll pick on me, but you don't care about that, because you reckon that it will serve me right, and that I deserve a taste of my own medicine."

"Well, you do bully me," stated Remus, a tad defensively, since he did think that it was fair that the tables had finally turned on his kinsman, although it was rather disconcerting to realize that someone like Chet could be intimidated by anyone.

However, before Chet could retort, the priest arrived, and the entire assembly trailed him, and Aunt Mildred out into the backyard, where Uncle Brendan would be buried in the hole that had already been dug there. Remus listened with half an ear, standing beside Chet, who was sobbing as the eulogy went on, as the priest expounded upon the virtues that Uncle Brendan had embodied in his tragically brief life. For some reason, he did not want to hear about how brave, clever, gentle, merciful, or mild the deceased had been. He didn't want to be lectured on how Uncle Brendan's example ought to spur him onto greater moral heights.

All he wanted to do was recollect the man in his own fashion, and pay tribute to him by remembering the time he had spent with his uncle, and looking back on it with less asperity. Perhaps all those head rubs had really been meant as a sign of affection, and perhaps the appellation "son" had just been meant as a friendly form of address. Yes, his uncle's voice had been aggravating, but, in the scheme of things, that wasn't so horrible, and Remus started to wish that he had been kinder to the man, because it did seem that, after all, his uncle had tried to be nice to him, but he could never see Uncle Brendan in this world again, because he was dwelling with the angels now, like Mrs. Lupin had said.

At this point, Remus was jolted back to reality when the congregation began reciting a series of "Our Father"s and "Hail Mary"s, and he reluctantly joined them, mumbling unenthusiastically, because the words were a meaningless jumble to him. Once the prayers had been said for Uncle Brendan's soul, snow-white lilies were passed around, and Remus numbly stepped forward to place his flower on his uncle's now closed coffin.

When he finished doing so, he fell back, and waited for his parents to come over to him. As he waited for them, he watched as Chet knelt beside his father's grave, scooped up a handful of the dirt the gravediggers would be using to bury Uncle Brendan once everyone had returned to the house, and let it flow out of his fingers, like sand trickling from the top compartment into the bottom one in an hourglass, tears pouring down his cheeks. Perhaps the dropping dirt prompted Chet to think about fleeing time slipping through a person's fingers, for he grabbed another fistful of dirt, and threw it at the garden wall, where it smashed with a satisfying thud, and then dumped his flower upon the ground, and stamped it into the earth. Then, ignoring all the eyes upon him, he fled back into the house, his face one gigantic tomato stained with tears. Aunt Mildred darted after him, her own cheeks damp, as Remus was joined by his parents.

"Chet told me that he and Aunt Mildred are going to move to America soon," Remus educated his mum and dad when they reached his side.

"That's right." Mr. Lupin nodded grimly. "Your aunt told me so."

"Can't you convince her not to go, Dad?" pleaded Remus. For some reason, he did not want Chet to leave, partly because his cousin was such an established part of his life that he could not envision his absence, and partly because he was starting to think that Chet wasn't so bad, after all, and that a genuine friendship might be able to develop between them now that he had realized that his cousin was a human just like him, and that hatred was the last ditch defense of the weak and the ignorant. "I don't want Chet to go away."

"Your aunt's mind is made up," responded his dad, as they entered the house for the reception, "and, anyway, although I wish that she wouldn't leave so soon after Brendan's death, I suppose that she is correct about it being safer there than here. After all, the Atlantic Ocean ought to serve as some protection, at least for awhile, and, since she has family there, it shouldn't be too difficult for her to make a new start there."

Although there was plenty of food, from fruit to sandwiches to cheese and crackers, Remus did not eat anything, and only sipped at a tiny plastic cup of pumpkin juice, because none of the victuals looked appetizing in the wake of Uncle Brendan's death, and it seemed impolite somehow to eat in a house owned by a dead man, who would never consume anything ever again. Instead, Remus just sat on a lounge chair, waiting for Chet to come back downstairs from his bedroom, where he had retreated to after his dad's burial, but Chet did not return to the reception, and, when asked, Aunt Mildred explained that Chet had locked his door, and did not want to speak or see anyone.

After an hour of sitting there, feeling useless and horrible, Remus was finally approached by his parents again, and informed that it was time to leave. The three of them said farewell to Aunt Mildred, who hugged and kissed them even more tightly than was typical with her, because of her grief at her husband's death, and then they Flooed back home.

Just as Chet had told Remus, the following Wednesday, he, and Mr. and Mrs. Lupin, were Flooing to Aunt Mildred's house again, so that they could say good-bye to Chet and his mother before they Apparated to America to live with Mildred's brother. Feeling somewhat stunned, because it was hard to accept that that his aunt and cousin were just departing the country like this with such scarce warning, Remus hugged and kissed Aunt Mildred, and, then, pivoted to focus on Chet, as his parents engaged his aunt in a quiet, but somber conversation.

"Good-bye, squirt." Gruffly, Chet swept Remus up into a brief hug, and then released him again quickly.

"Enjoy America," Remus returned.

"I will; it's America that won't enjoy having me," Chet observed with a wry twist of his mouth. "Someday, I'll come back home, though, and I'll get revenge on those Death Eaters that killed my father."

"You'll do no such thing, Chester!" scolded Aunt Mildred, and Remus gawked at her, surprised that she would ever chastise her baby angel. "Those Death Eaters are very dangerous, young man--"

"I know that, Mum," Chet maintained on an eye roll. "They killed Dad, so, of course, they're dangerous, but that's not going to stop me from—"

"Oh, yes, it will, because I forbid it," interrupted his mother, as the two of them prepared to Apparate out of their eerily empty living room, which was devoid of all trappings like every other room in the house, because all of the furnishings had been sent on ahead to America, given away, or sold. "Your father loved you too much to see you die for him in a silly attempt at avenging him! Besides, killing Death Eaters won't bring your dad back to life."

Chet was denied the opportunity to reply to this contention, because his mum had already began turning on her heel, her son's hand clasped in hers, and they both waved before they vanished instantaneously. For a few minutes, Remus, along with his mother and father, just gazed at the air where the pair of them had been standing a little while ago. Then, they Apparated back home themselves, because there was nothing left for them to do here. As he returned home, Remus wondered if he would ever see Chet again, and prayed that Chet would have a fine time in America. Hopefully, Chet's older cousins would be kinder to him than he had been to Remus, since, Remus was astonished to discover, he really did love his cousin, and didn't want any harm to befall him.


	4. Chapter 4

Nightmares

It was past midnight a month after Uncle Brendan's burial, and Remus had just been awoken in the middle of a nightmare, which had entailed him fleeing from a gigantic wolf-like creature. Funnily enough, he had been tortured with similar nightmares every night for the past week and a half, he noted, as he climbed groggily out of bed, and went downstairs to fetch himself a goblet of water, since his throat was dry from all the screaming he had done in his dream. However, he was diverted from this aim, as he passed the living room, and heard voices emerging from within. Figuring that whatever was going on was surely interesting if it was being conducted at this hour, Remus tip-toed into the room, and ducked quickly behind an armchair.

"We want that Veritaserum that you and your brother concocted together, Lupin," growled a dark-haired man, whose boulder-hard face was etched in sharp relief in the flickering flames of the fire that was burning in the hearth.

"I'm afraid that your friends destroyed the only batch that we ever made when you murdered my brother at the Ministry when he was working overtime," Remus' dad responded, and his son detected the dry irony lacing his words.

Perhaps the menacing visitor distinguished it, as well, for he snarled, "Potions can be recreated, as long as one has the recipe. You can just give us the recipe, now, and then we'll call it an evening, and nobody gets hurt."

"I don't have the recipe on me, I'm afraid," replied Mr. Lupin, as Remus' mind worked frantically trying to determine what exactly was occurring. "Before he died, my brother sent the only copy of the recipe to the Department of Mysteries in Canada. They were most happy to receive it, and are guarding it quite well, I've been informed. I think they have five Aurors and three security trolls protecting it at all times, because it is rather valuable."

"You know the recipe, though," snapped the intruder, eyes cackling like sparks in the fire, "and you can write it out for me right now, or you'll suffer for your defiance, just as your brother did."

"Kill me, Lestrange, and the recipe perishes with me." Mr. Lupin shrugged at this barely veiled threat, although Remus could hardly stifle a gasp. For God's sakes, he didn't want his dad to die the same way as his uncle...he couldn't live without his daddy, because he needed the man too much, and it wasn't fair that the Death Eaters could just come in here, and threaten his dad like this. It wasn't just that they could murder, or bully anyone they wanted, and it certainly shouldn't be allowed by God that both his Uncle Brendan and his dad be slaughtered, just because they desired for their work to be used to benefit, not hurt, others.

However, the man, Lestrange, just emitted a cold laugh that suggested ruthless amusement. "Oh, I have no intention of killing you, Lupin, since, as you pointed out, when you die the recipe dies with you, unless we can attain the copy that now is in Canada, which is something that we wouldn't wish to do at the moment. We only killed your brother, because we knew that we could still procure the recipe or the potion from you, and that dear Brendan's death might serve as a motivator for you to honor our request."

"It hasn't," answered Remus' dad, as Mrs. Lupin, who was sitting on his right, patted his hand in reassurance, and his son was flooded with admiration for him. This was true courage, even if nobody but those present in the living room knew about it. Real courage wasn't what ancient knights believed it to be, with trumpets blaring, fair ladies cheering, and an enemy rogue knight that was armed with the same weapons as the noble one. No, it was hidden in a quiet room, where a person had to endure the whispered threats of someone who could do away with everything one loved in a second, and still not lose their morality. Courage was what happened inside, where nobody could see, rather than what one did in a crowd. After all, anyone could be brave in front of a horde of beings applauding them. "In fact, it has only increased my willpower to defy you and your kind. Your attempt at motivating me by killing my brother has been a dismal failure, I regret to say."

"I doubt that you regret it as much as I do," Lestrange drawled, "as it would be far easier on you if you gave in now." His eyes flicked about the room, and they focused on Remus, something that chilled the boy to his bone marrow, despite the roaring fire in the grate, because he had never imagine being fixed with such an icily calculating glance. "Ah, is that your little son, Lupin?"

Mr. Lupin didn't reply, although his eyes widened slightly as they noticed his child's presence in the sitting room.

"I'm sure Fenrir would love to make his acquaintance," announced Lestrange, pushing himself out of the armchair he had been perching in like a massive hawk, sneering at the terror that appeared on Mr. Lupin's features for the first time, and striding out of the room and into the corridor, his black robes flapping like a vampire's behind him. As they heard the door slam behind him, Mr. Lupin stalked over to his son, snatched his arm, and yanked him over to the sofa where he and his wife were seated.

"Didn't I tell you not to eavesdrop?" he demanded, shaking the lad.

"I wasn't eavesdropping," protested Remus, somewhat alarmed at the anger that dominated his parent's face. Honestly, his dad hadn't been so upset last time he had listened in on a conversation, so why was he so furious this time? "I was just on my way to get some water, that's all, I swear."

His father's eyes narrowed as they scrutinized him, but in the end, all he did was order tersely, "Get yourself some water, then, and get back to bed. It's late."

"Yes, Dad." Remus nodded, heading toward the kitchen, and yelping when Mr. Lupin sped him on his way with a swat to the rump.

It was only when he crawled back under his blankets that Remus realized that his dad's wrath might have been masking his fear at the Death Eaters last words. Abruptly, it dawned on him that his father might have been worried about his son, although Remus was at a loss to understand precisely why that was the case. Granted, it only took a little more intelligence than what was required to toast a crouton to reach the conclusion that the Lestrange man had threatened to injure Remus somehow, but what was the threat exactly?

After all, if it had been standard murder and torture―Remus shuddered at the notion of such things happening to him, or anyone he knew―then the Death Eater could just have handled it himself without dragging this Fenrir fellow into the equation. So, who was this Fenrir, and what power did he wield? What could he inflict upon Remus that inspired such terror in a man such as his father?

Shivering, and furrowing himself into his covers, as if they could function as a shield for him against this unknown Fenrir, Remus decided that he didn't have any desire to uncover the answers to any of these questions, because if the answers horrified his dad, they would probably send him into cardiac arrest, and he really didn't want to die so young…he loved his parents, and was looking forward to attending Hogwarts when was eleven, which was only six years from now. The thought of Hogwarts cheered him, and he drifted off to sleep in a haze of laughter with a horde of imaginary friends that he would make in the future, once he arrived at school.

Within a few days' time, when no danger materialized, Remus forgot about Lestrange's warning, although his parents plainly had not, for they constantly instructed him to be extra cautious of strangers, remain in the house, especially at night, and to not even play on the lawn during the day, unless he was accompanied by one of them. He complied with their demands, and, since his time outside was restricted, he spent more of his life than usual with his nose buried in a book. However, in the end, adhering to none of these precautions did him a whit of good.

On the night of the next full moon, the August night was so stifling that Remus had to open his window wide so that he could sleep at all. Like always, he slipped into a nightmare in which he was being chased by an enormous wolf with teeth as long and as lethal as swords, and no matter how rapidly he churned his legs, they did not propel him forward fast enough, because the beast was closing in upon him, and was about to sink its deadly, pointed jaws into his tender flesh…

Sweating profusely, Remus sat bolt upright, and tried to gasp out his terror, and calm his racing heart, but he couldn't do so, since the dream was still clinging to him like a spider web did after he burst through it in a fashion that the other similar nightmares hadn't. Figuring that seeing familiar objects would soothe him, he looked about his bedroom, and blinked in astonishment when his eyes fixed upon his window. There on his windowsill, illuminated in the light from the nearby street lamp, the full moon, and the pinpricks of stars in the velvet black sky, was the monster from his nightmares.

_I must still be asleep_, he reasoned, trying to calm himself. Before he could pinch himself, or make any other attempt to awaken himself, the beast had vaulted off the windowsill, and pounced upon a vulnerable, appalled Remus. He opened his mouth to shout, but was mute with fear. Anyway, even if he could have summoned the energy to shriek, it would have done him no service, because the wolf-like creature was pushing on his chest with enough force to expel every atom of oxygen from his lungs and send him backwards, so that his head rammed into the wooden head of his bed. Fireworks exploded in Remus' head as daggers shot through it at about a hundred kilometers per minute.

Still, the pain that resulted from his head banging into the front of his bed was a blessing, because the shock it prompted in him dimmed his experience of the subsequent agony that followed barely a millisecond later. At what seemed like the speed of light, the beast lashed out with his claws, and ripped open the shirt of Remus' pajamas in a jagged line like a bolt of lightning dividing a summer sky during a thunderstorm, revealing the boy's soft, naked skin. Then, the monster's neck dove forward, and Remus' nose went into temporary sensory overload at the wolf-like creature's fetid breath that called to mind the dank air of a mausoleum, before what felt like a million sabers pierced his stomach simultaneously, and all he could do was writhe about in a feeble attempt at self-defense, as the beast's head bore down upon him again, tearing into his flesh. A foul stench flooded the atmosphere, and the boy realized barely a second later, through the curtain of agony that was veiling his mind, that it was the scent of his own blood filling the room.

As the monster, satisfied that its devastation here was complete, hopped back onto the windowsill, and dove out into the night again, Remus' hands slowly crawled to the wound upon his chest. He could feel the blood pouring out of it, along with other gunk that he had never imagined was contained inside him. Gosh, the human body was ugly, and, golly, he was in pain. Why couldn't the beast have just eaten him whole? Then, he wouldn't have had to endure this agony, and he would have been granted a quick death, instead of this excruciatingly slow one that involved gradually being killed by blood and organ loss, while being soaked in one's own bodily fluids. Really, could there be a worse way to go?

Ah, was this the end now, at last? Probably. After all, he could feel what little consciousness he had been able to maintain draining from him at record speed, and the fire that the pain had ignited inside his head was subsiding in favor of a blackness that was darker even than obsidian. It was an eternal darkness that somehow befitted the eternal rest. Just before he faded off into oblivion, he heard, or thought that he heard, the sounds of feet dashing into his room.

Hours later, his dreamless sleep was interrupted by a burgeoning light that started to fill his mind, beginning in one corner, and expanding to the rest of it within a few moments. Apparently, he was approaching the light that everyone insisted was present at the Gates of Heaven, which was all very well and good, because he would much rather spend eternity dwelling in paradise, rather than the inferno of hell. However, why in the world was the pain inside him increasing again, when the oblivion had at least afforded him numbness? It didn't seem fair that he would have to suffer pain in heaven, as well as on earth...

His eyelids must have flickered, or he must have given some other sign of dawning awareness, for a voice stated tentatively, "Remus."

Hmm...something about that voice was awfully familiar. Yes, Remus knew that voice. It was his father's, or so he thought, but Mr. Lupin couldn't possibly be in heaven, unless that monster had assailed him, as well. Somewhat curious but far more detached at the notion of his dad's death or, indeed, his own, than he would typically have been, Remus opened his eyes a fraction, and saw that his father was sitting beside him on an oaken chair, with Mrs. Lupin standing behind her husband, clutching his chair so hard that her knuckles were whiter than marble.

"Good," Mr. Lupin observed, the taut, anxious expression on his face relaxing a tad. "You're awake at last. You slept for nine straight hours."

"Where am I?" Remus choked, as he discovered that speaking required far more energy and effort than he had remembered. Really, it was quite tiring just to move his mouth, and forcing the words out was even more challenging. Why, in so many millennia, hadn't mankind devised a less strenuous method of communication, and why hadn't he noticed how arduous it was to speak before? "Is this heaven?"

"No," his mother informed him gently, hurrying forward to stroke his arm with a nervous look on her face, as though she were afraid of him. "This isn't heaven. It's just St. Mungo's."

As he finally summoned up enough strength to open his eyes entirely, something that, like speaking, was far more difficult than he recalled, Remus recognized that his mum was correct. He wasn't in heaven, which meant that he wasn't dead, which explained why the pain in his stomach was raging inside him again, and the uncomfortable cot that his back was resting upon, and the too firm pillows his head was reclining upon demonstrated all too clearly that he was in a hospital. The antiseptic odors, nauseating in their unnatural cleanliness, and the tube that was pouring painkilling, infection preventing, and other healing potions and antidotes into his veins and arteries provided further proof of the fact that he was in a hospital, in case more were needed.

"Why am I here?" he mumbled, shutting his eyes again. Maybe sleep would return to him, and then his stomach wouldn't hurt so cursed much. It was worth a try anyway. Anything that might ease the pain was worth a shot, actually. If someone told him that jumping out the window would be a comfort to him, he would have done it, assuming, of course, that he could reach the window in his present state, something that in all likelihood wasn't possible.

"You don't remember?" Even though he couldn't see his dad's face, because his eyes were closed, Remus could tell by the man's tone that he was astonished.

Suddenly, Remus did remember. He recalled how the monster had leapt from the windowsill onto him, how he had been slammed into the front of his bed, how his pajamas had been ripped, how he had been bitten by the beast not once but twice before the wolf-like creature had finally left him alone in his anguish and his pool of bodily fluids and guts, and how it had felt to feel and smell his own blood. None of it was anything that he wanted to remember, and he whimpered, as his eyes flew open again, so that the nightmare would be banished by the glaring hospital lights.

His moan was answer enough to Mr. Lupin, and the three of them lapsed into silence for awhile. Remus' body wished to drift back into sleep, but he blocked its attempts to do so, because he did not have even the faintest desire to revisit the scene that had enfolded when the monster had entered his bedroom, and, somehow, he sensed that would be what he would dream about now. Finally, Remus broke the quiet that had settled between them, by inquiring in a whisper, "What bit me?"

His parents exchanged tense glances, and, for a moment Remus imagined that the answer was so horrible that they wouldn't respond at all, but in the end, his father replied in a voice that was scarcely louder than Remus', "It was a werewolf, son."

"A werewolf?" echoed Remus, stunned. As he sank back deeper into the pillows in shock, he groaned when spasms of pain originating in his stomach convulsed him. When he had recovered he went on, "Does that mean I'll be a werewolf?"

"Yes, dear," his mother educated him, her manner delicate, as she leaned forward, and squeezed his hand so tightly that it hurt, but Remus welcomed the pain, because it prevented him from fainting in surprise at this update.

He couldn't be a werewolf. That was impossible. For God's sake, werewolves were vicious, brutish, and utterly uncivilized—almost as vile as trolls were, in fact—and he didn't have any of those attributes. He was polite, shy, and well-behaved. Everyone said so, and he had done as he was told, hadn't he? He had remained in the house, and everything. It wasn't fair that he should be bitten, and sentenced to leave a life of primitive vulgarity.

"I don't want to be a werewolf," protested Remus, tears stinging his eyes.

"I know." Mr. Lupin nodded. "You can blame it all on the ba—"

"Robby!" intervened his wife sharply.

"On the idiot who did this to you," finished Mr. Lupin without a pause, although Remus could tell that this was not what the man had intended to say initially. For some reason, his words angered his child, who found that he could sympathize with this unknown werewolf that had attacked him now that he was sentenced to the same horrid fate of being turned into a monster that was a menace to anyone who was near him every full moon.

"Don't say that, Dad!" Remus argued with as much heat as he could muster in his current state, and the addressed stared at him, as though he had just sprouted snake heads like Medusa, because, after all, Remus rarely contradicted his parents, and seldom with any real vehemence. "The werewolf didn't know what he was doing. He didn't do it on purpose. It was just the full moon that made him do it. The moon was in control, not him. It's not fair to blame him for something he didn't know he was doing."

Mr. Lupin opened his mouth to respond to this assessment, but his spouse beat him to it. "So, you feel sympathy for the one who did this to you?" she asked.

"Yes, Mum," affirmed Remus, "because what happened to him could happen to me one day."

Again, Remus' father appeared on the verge of speech, but decided in the end to remain silent. The quiet that fell between them all again permitted Remus to do something that he hadn't been able to accomplish yet. It afforded him ample opportunity to contemplate his future, which seemed far from bright at the moment. Werewolves, as Remus was well-aware, were exiles of Wizarding society. Most jobs were not available to werewolves, because werewolves were deemed as too dangerous to be permitted to associate in a normal business context with others, even though werewolves were a threat to fellow beings only once a month, and most children that were attacked by werewolves were cast out by their parents to live among their own kind, or die...Still, the fact that his mum and dad were here gave Remus some hope, because it implied that they hadn't abandoned him yet, and that they probably wouldn't do so.

"What'll happen to me?" he questioned his mother and father after images of all the horrors that awaited him in the future swirled around his brain for several long minutes.

"You'll keep living with us as you always have," soothed Mrs. Lupin at once. "Only, on the full moon you'll sleep in the cellar, which we'll lock up, instead, so that you won't be a danger to anyone. It won't be pleasant, but it'll only occur once a month, after all. Other than that, everything will remain as it was."

Remus breathed a sigh of relief at her remark, the tension flowing out of him. Then, his anxiety returned to him when he remembered that werewolves probably wouldn't be allowed to attend Hogwarts, since most parents would not want their children exposed to a werewolf that might transfigure their offspring into beasts, but he had to be able to go to Hogwarts. He had dreamed of going there all his life, and not going amounted to nothing less than his worst nightmare. If he didn't go to Hogwarts, he would never be able to see the palace his parents had described, or learn more about magic, or make new friends, or be able to apply for any sort of job when he was an adult.

"And when I'm eleven, will I be able to go to Hogwarts?" Remus pressed.

"That's a long while off," observed Mr. Lupin after a moment's pause, in which he and his wife traded significant looks.

"That's not really an answer, Dad," Remus noted.

"Very well, then," his father responded. "The answer is that we'll see what happens. We'll speak with the headmaster when the time is nearer, but for now, there is no point in troubling yourself with this matter."

At his words, the tears that had been threatening to trickle from Remus' eyes actually poured down his cheeks, since he comprehended that when his dad said "we'll see", he might as well have gone with a more succinct declaration of "no." It wasn't just that he shouldn't be allowed to go to school when he probably wanted to do so more than any boy in Britain, and he would be an obedient, and hard worker, who would never give his professors cause for concern, and it was so cruel of fate to make him the one whose life was ruined by a werewolf's bite.

"I hate my life," he muttered bitterly, as the acidic tears dripped down his face, and he longed to bury his head in his pillows, which he wished were as soft as the ones in his own bed at home, but that was a course of action that was denied to him, because turning on his stomach was impossible, thanks to the wounds on his stomach.

"Don't say that!" snapped Mr. Lupin, and Remus jolted at the sharpness in the man's voice. The sudden movement prompted knives to rip through Remus' body, and he struggled to listen as his dad continued, "You're lucky to be alive."

"Not so lucky from where I'm laying, Dad," he countered thickly.

However, Mr. Lupin ignored this contention. "The Healers state that the bites would have killed you if you hadn't employed simple, accidental magic to lessen the pain, and if we hadn't rushed you to the hospital in time."

"You should've let me die."

"Don't be a fool," his father chided. "Any life at all is better than no life."

"But I won't attend Hogwarts, or have a real job, or have anyone who wants to be my friend once they discover what I am," sobbed Remus.

"School and a career are a long while off, and a large aspect of mental hygiene revolves around understanding that it is stupid to fret about distant events that one has little power over in the present," replied his dad. "As for the friends, at least you'll know that whatever friends you make are loyal to you, and that counts for a lot in this world. Now, go to bed. You need your rest if you're ever going to heal."

Remus shut his eyes compliantly, but he did not permit himself to nod off, because he did not want to relive the moment that he had become a werewolf. Besides, there was no real point in striving to heal, as nothing would ever be able to make him less a werewolf, and that was the only injury that mattered to him. The scars that would no doubt mar his stomach were just collateral damage, and external confirmation of the destruction that had occurred within Remus. After all, his dreams had all been dashed like glass shattering when it crashed upon a granite floor, and his worst nightmares had come true, and, at the moment, he didn't know what was living for, despite his father's words. His life, as far as he was concerned, was over before it had begun, and it was a shame, but it was also the truth, and there was no profit in denying it.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: Sorry about it taking forever and a day to update

Author's Note: Sorry about it taking forever and a day to update. Thanks so much for your patience, because I was working on completing my Gold Award for Girl Scouts (I'm really almost there now) and I didn't have time to write for awhile. Then, I suffered from writer's block, as you might be able to tell from the chapter. By the way, I'm sorry if the chapter isn't my best, because it is the result of me struggling to write through writer's block. Anyway, I hope you like it/ feel it is acceptable.

Transformations

When Remus was released from St. Mungo's a week later, after the Healers had done all they could for him, although his stomach was marred by a gigantic scar, he quickly discovered that his parents had not been idle during the time that they had not spent by his bedside, or, in the case of Mr. Lupin, at work. In fact, they had been busy finding the contact information of all those who specialized in magical creature bites across the country. Therefore, as soon as he was out of the hospital, Remus found that practically everyday he was being dragged off by his mum and dad to visit these specialists.

Unfortunately, all that resulted from these meetings, as far as he could discern, was that he and the rest of his family squandered an awful amount of time in waiting rooms that they could better have employed doing just about anything else, even watching scabs form, or paint dry, because, as it transpired, none of these so-called experts had any notion how to assist him.

Some were sympathetic, others brusque, and others matter-of-fact, but all were adamant about their inability to aid Remus, the werewolf boy. As they detailed over and over, their voices creating a dirge in Remus' brain, no cure had yet been found to stop a person who had been chowed on by a werewolf from being transformed into one of the monsters themselves once a month at the full moon, and there wasn't even a potion to lessen the effects of being a werewolf on the full moon, or any potion that would allow the transformed werewolf to retain any of its humanity. Modern medicine hadn't devised a solution to this problem yet, but, eventually, it would, and then there would be a cure. Essentially, that was all the professionals ever claimed, and, always, Mr. Lupin would provide the specialist with the family's contact information, in case there were ever any new developments.

After seeing all of England's magical bite experts, and uncovering no cause for hope of salvation for Remus, the Lupins had to acknowledge that he was truly a werewolf, and they began cleaning out the cellar, and putting the belongings that had previously resided there into the musty, dark, spider-infested attic upstairs, so that when he was placed downstairs in the basement on the night of the full moon for his transformation, he would not break anything once he had lost all aspects of human self-control or logic. Since the family had been accumulating junk there for years, even before Remus had been born, it took them up until the day before the full moon to accomplish this formidable chore.

The day after they had finished relocating all the rubbish from the cellar into the attic, at dusk, Remus' parents sent him down into the basement, where he would be incapable of injuring them, or anybody else, for that matter, once his senses had deserted him.

Before he descended into what would be his dungeon for the rest of the night, until dawn came, and he was human once more, Remus hugged and kissed his mother and father fiercely. He clutched onto each of them far more tightly than he ever had previously, because he had a foreboding that the ordeal ahead of him would be a very painful one, and he really had no desire to face it alone. In fact, he wished more than anything that they could stand beside him during his first terrifying werewolf transformation, but, of course, they couldn't, since once he was transfigured into a werewolf, he would attack them without thought, and then two more people, the people he loved most in the world, would be afflicted with this, and all because he was a stupid, selfish coward. No, that couldn't happen. He wouldn't let it occur.

Still, he couldn't prevent himself from whispering to his mum, as he squeezed her good night at this unnaturally early hour, "I wish I could have a book with me down there."

This statement was true, since he did wish that he could have something to read downstairs, because that would serve to relive his anxiety somewhat, as it was a distraction, while he waited from the moon to rise and become full.

"You can't, though, dear," Mrs. Lupin reminded him, patting his cheek. "I'm sorry, but you can't have books and toys down there for the same reason that we can't have the junk in the basement anymore, because―"

"Because you'll shred it apart once you've transformed," finished Mr. Lupin.

In response, Remus merely nodded. What else could he do, after all? Intellectually, he understood perfectly why he wasn't permitted to have his beloved books for company on this horrible night, but that didn't prevent his heart from wanting them with him. Actually, his longing for them, ironically, was increased by his inability to have them. It was human nature to want what one couldn't have, after all.

"Well, you'd better hurry downstairs, now," commented Mrs. Lupin, shoving a paper plate loaded with a massive slab of steak that was approximately the size of North and South America combined. "Here's your supper. Eat it whenever you get hungry."

"I can't eat all this, Mum, and you've forgotten to hand me a knife, and fork," protested her son, as he commenced to climb down the rickety wooden stairwell with the dish in hand, and was instantly impressed by how much darker it was in the cellar. If it hadn't been for the light spilling from the kitchen through the ajar basement door, he would have tripped down the steps, instead of walking down them.

"You won't need a knife and fork once you've transformed, and you'll devour every bite of this once that occurs, and I don't want any sharp objects about you when you have transformed!" Mrs. Lupin shouted after him.

Deciding that he was not going to be able to swallow anything in his current nervous state, and that anything he did manage to consume would most likely be vomited back out promptly, anyhow, Remus did not press the point further. As he reached the bottom stair, and plopped down on the splintery wood, placing the platter down beside him on his left, he heard the kitchen door shut, and saw the sliver of light from above flicker from existence, extinguished for the night for him.

For a few moments, Remus panicked, as he heard his dad secure the lock he had affixed to the cellar door that day, because he didn't want to trapped here, alone in the darkness that seemed like it was about to gobble him up whole, like a black hole would. He wanted to be playing or reading for awhile before he was called for dinner. Then, he wished to sup with his family before heading up to bed. However, none of his wishes were granted, because he was stuck here, sitting on a hard plank that hurt his bottom even after such a short time upon it.

Maybe, he could escape thorough one of those windows near the ceiling the afforded his prison the scant light it possessed…No, he couldn't do that, though, he realized barely a second after the notion had entered his mind. There were steel bars latched over the glass, making escape impossible, or at least improbable. Besides, even if he could break out of here, he ought not to do so, since, if he did, he ran the risk of biting someone else, and, then, his parents might feel compelled to kick him out, and he certainly did not have any desire for that to occur. So, that meant that was imprisoned here, alone, with nothing but his thoughts for companions, and they were not very merry ones.

As he sat there, tapping his feet against the hard stone floor just to hear an echo in the empty room that wasn't his own eerie, heavy breathing, Remus remembered a question his father would sometimes put to him: "What do you think we are, son?"

Each time the inquiry was posed to him, Remus would try a different answer, like "We are all one family," or, "We are all organs in one body, each with our own tasks," or "We are all authors of history," and, every time, he would always want to know if his answer was right, although Mr. Lupin always replied that all answers were equally correct, since it was an opinion-based question. Now, that he was by himself in this dreadfully dark dungeon, a truer, deeper answer came to him, one that emerged from and resounded in the fathomless depths of his loneliness, and he informed his father mentally that, "In the end, all we are is…alone."

So, he sat there, alone, watching the sun disappear entirely, denying him of basically all traces of illumination, except the faint glow of the stars and moon that gradually gained strength as the evening wore on. As the full moon grew and intensified in brightness, Remus felt his reasoning powers slowly and steadily seeping from his brain. No longer, did he pass the time with his mind games, but rather just stared out of the windows, the compulsion to launch himself at them, and rip open the bars, so that he could pounce out of them, and hunt down a human, so that he could feel the tender flesh pierced by his sharp, powerful teeth, hear their helpless, pitiful wails and shrieks, and taste their metallic blood on his lips, increased until it was almost overpowering as his body changed.

His two legs became longer and more hairy, and his arms followed in their stead, while his hands and feet were transfigured into paws, his face became narrow and furry, his eyes sharp, and his hearing and olfactory senses far more powerful and honed than any human's could ever pray to be.

Growling, he vaulted at the windowsill, and landed upon it effortlessly. Savage triumph flooded him, as he howled at the moon. Once he had expressed his satisfaction with his perfectly executed leap, he began clawing at the bars, determined to yank them free of the window, or to break them with his mighty claws, but he could not accomplish either of these goals, and his howling quickly adopted an aggravated, rather than a victorious, quality.

Giving up breaking out of the window, because his new state had afforded him an attention span that was only slightly longer than that of a goldfish's, Remus leapt off the windowsill, and landed lightly upon the floor with an ease and grace that was the product of his being a transfigured werewolf, not a human. When he jumped onto the floor, he dashed over to the meat that was wafting its scent into his nostrils now, tormenting him. If he couldn't have human meat, then animal meat was second best. Yes, cow meat would be satisfying, indeed. Barring his teeth, he pounced upon the plate of food, and began chomping on it vigorously. Ah, blood tasted delicious, even though human blood would be much more succulent, and the feel of flesh surrendering to his teeth, to his power, was wonderful, uplifting, intoxicating...although it would have been better if he had raw meat, instead of this cooked stuff.

Unfortunately, he consumed the entire platter full of meat in three gobbles, and ate the plate, soaked in the juices of the steak, in another bite. Then, he looked around, hungry for the addicting taste of blood, and the seductive feel of flesh, but found nothing else to devour. In desperation, he howled, and chewed on his own arms, and legs.

Pain swamped him as he ate himself, but he couldn't stop, because the taste of blood and the feel of flesh forced him to keep munching upon himself, oblivious to the moans he addressed to the full moon. Finally, the moon reached its apex, forcing him to lash out at his poor body with more intensity than he had yet displayed, and then it began to wane, and he slowly lost his compulsion to bite into flesh, and drink blood. He ceased eating himself, and, as the first auroras of dawn lit the room through the slits in the bars of his dungeon, Remus collapsed onto the wooden plank, exhausted, ignoring the slices that covered his arms and legs in his weariness.

He awoke at around noon up in his soft bed, with bandages wrapped tightly about his arms, and legs. When he glanced about his room, he saw that his mother and father were present, sitting beside his bed, their faces ashen, and gray lines highlighting the ridges of their eyes.

Before he could say anything, however, his mum exclaimed, "Oh, you're up at last, Remus, thank God!"

"I didn't sleep at all last night," he explained, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. Amazingly, he still was drowsy after his rest. Somehow, it seemed, he didn't sleep as well during the day as he did during the night.

"Neither did we," Mr. Lupin remarked dryly. "You were up all night howling."

Oh, so that was the reason why his parents had bags under their eyes. Remus flushed, because he hadn't wanted to disturb his mother and father, but he really could not control those growls anymore than he could govern the desire to eat meat when he was a transformed werewolf. He was subject to his primitive urges in his transformed state, and that provided him with all the maneuverability of a strait jacket those Muggles employed on their mentally ill.

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I couldn't help it. Please don't kick me out. I wasn't trying to be bad, I swear."

"Of course we're not going to kick you out," Mrs. Lupin reassured him, brushing his hair gingerly out of his eyes. "You're our son, and we're going to care for you." With that, she whirled upon her husband, and, eyes storming, snapped, "Don't scare the poor dear like that! You would be howling to if you had scratches like that all over your arms, and legs…"

Tears formed in Remus' eyes as he recollected how he had been the one to inflict the injuries upon himself, and how he couldn't stop, no matter how much agony he was in, because he had to have more blood and flesh to sate himself. Spotting his distress, Mrs. Lupin patted his hand gently, and asked, "Would you like me to fetch you some toast and sausages, dear?"

"Some toast, yes, but no sausages, please," Remus responded, figuring that he had devoured enough meat to last him for a lifetime.

"But toast and sausages is your favorite breakfast," frowned his mum, who was obviously bewildered by his unexpected answer.

"I don't want any meat, Mum," he whispered, burying his head in his pillow, "because I had enough meat last night. I ate the entire slab of steak in three bites, and then I gobbled up the plate in the next bite. I was like a pig. No, I was worse than a pig, since at least a pig will stop gorging itself before it eats the trough."

"It's not your fault," murmured Mrs. Lupin, as she rose to go downstairs to the kitchen to make him some toast. "It was simply the result of you being a werewolf. You couldn't help it, and so don't blame yourself for it."

She kissed him on the forehead, and then left the room, heading toward the stairwell, and shutting the door in her wake. When she left, Remus eyed his father.

"Will I― we― have to go through this every month?" he demanded, wondering if his parents would be able to tolerate this arrangement, or if they would kick him out, leaving him truly alone. He hoped not, but hoping for something didn't mean that it would happen.

"It seems that you'll be transformed into a werewolf every month at the full moon, and that there is no potion or anything that can ease the pain you go through or anything," Mr. Lupin educated him. "Still, you will probably grow accustomed to the pain of the transfiguration in time, and this first time was probably the hardest."

"And if it wasn't?" Remus pressed. "Will you be able to put up with it, Dad?"

"Don't worry about your mother or I putting up with it, since it's you that suffers the most," replied his dad, as Mrs. Lupin returned with a dish of toast, which she placed upon Remus' nightstand.

Somewhat reassured, Remus rolled over, feeling his bandages protest before they accommodated his motions, and nibbled on his first piece of toast. To his relief, the salt of the butter appealed to him, and drove out any latent thirst for blood or animal flesh. He was human again, or, at least, he was until the next full moon, and that was a blessing.


	6. Chapter 6

Meeting Marlene

However, despite Mr. Lupin's conviction that the werewolf transformations would become easier to bear as time wore on, and Remus became more accustomed to them, Remus' transformation into a werewolf never became easier to endure, and he always emerged from the terrifying ordeal in which his mind was no longer his own, and his impulses dominated him, exhausted and covered in scratches, no matter how much meat his mother sent into the basement with him. She probably could have sent a bull down with him, and he would have gobbled it up entirely within two or three moments.

Therefore, on the Saturday after his fifth dreadful werewolf transformation he was too weary to listen to the conversation, as he attempted with considerable difficulty to consume the noon brunch of waffles, scrambled eggs, and bacon with his bandaged arms handicapping him in this endeavor.

"Well, did I tell you that I've finally been assigned a new research partner on Friday, now that a 'suitable' mourning period has elapsed since Brendan passed away?" inquired Mr. Lupin, taking a sip of juice.

"Yes," replied his wife, through bites of her waffle, which she took without maple syrup, something that her son did not comprehend. As far as Remus was concerned, French toast, pancakes, and waffles were merely vehicles by which massive doses of the sugary substance could be transported effectively to the mouth, but, obviously, his mum didn't harbor this same enlightened view. "You said his name was Hayes―Neil Hayes."

"That's right. Hayes' old partner, Raynor Preston, left for New Zealand a week ago, because he's a Muggleborn," Mr. Lupin elaborated. "Now, there are exactly three hundred sheep in New Zealand for every person, thanks to Preston relocating there."

"Really, Robby!" scolded his spouse, as she chewed on her strips of bacon. "If you were half as funny as you believe you are, you'd be twice as humorous as you actually are."

"It's a pity about Preston having to evacuate the country for fear of the Death Eaters, though," Remus' dad went on, shaking his head, and sobering up immediately. "He was a good and clever man, from what little I knew of him. Still, at least, he won't be killed by the Death Eaters, so I suppose that ought to be some consolation to me, and I should be duly grateful for that blessing."

At the mention of murder, Remus, who had been paying scant attention to the conversation, jumped in alarm, dropped his forkful of waffle upon his platter with a clatter, and stared at his father with wide eyes.

"Robby, Remus is present," Mrs. Lupin reminded her husband in a soft voice that her son heard anyhow, and he stiffened, miffed at being discussed as if he were not there, and fully capable of hearing them.

"Right, well, I've been assigned a new partner at work, Neil Hayes," reiterated Mr. Lupin, "and he seems to be a decent enough fellow―focused on his job, but willing to joke when appropriate, and he doesn't have rocks rolling about in his skull, even though he's a Gryffindor, not a Ravenclaw." The man paused, and shrugged prior to continuing, "I suppose that us Ravenclaws don't have a monopoly on intellect anymore than the Gryffindors have a monopoly upon bravery."

"We should invite him and his family over for supper," remarked Mrs. Lupin, and Remus groaned inwardly, since he hated having guests over, because while it usually entailed a delicious dessert of some sort, that was not worth the time he wasted tidying the house in preparation of visitors, whom, apparently, would peek under the sofas for dust, and inspect the rugs for specks of dirt while their hosts were looking the other way, and whom would tolerate nothing less than absolutely sterile environs. "The closer the pair of you are, the more your work will benefit."

In response, Mr. Lupin emitted a noncommittal noise, as he stabbed at a mound of scrambled eggs. Hope coursed through Remus. Perhaps, this Hayes bloke wouldn't come calling, after all, and there would be no need to clean everything for him…

"Nobody could replace Brendan," maintained Mrs. Lupin, glancing seriously across the table at her husband, "but that doesn't mean that you can't develop personal ties with your colleagues. You know, your brother would want you to continue on without him, and to make new friends…"

"Very well," Remus' father conceded, and Remus cursed himself for pushing his luck by daring to believe that he could get out of purging the house prior to a visitor's arrival, "we'll invite him, his wife, and his daughter over for dinner sometime, in that case."

"That's settled, then. We'll invite them over for supper tomorrow evening," declared Mrs. Lupin. "They can come around five, and we can have dinner at seven. I'll owl them as soon as I'm finished eating."

Her spouse nodded his assent, as Remus scowled at the notion of spending all day today and tomorrow tidying the house. Spotting his child's glower, Mr. Lupin commented, "You need not look so glum, son. Neil mentioned that he has a daughter―Marlene, Mary, or Marie, I believe he told me her name was― who is about your age."

Recognizing that this was intended to cheer him, although it was a foolish assumption that two beings would enjoy each other's company merely because they were born around the same time, Remus forced a grin, as he returned his attention to his breakfast.

"Now, Remus, dear, once you've finished eating, and have gotten dressed, I want you to start dusting for me," his mother ordered.

Remus wiped off the artificial smile he had plastered across his features at his dad's remark, and allowed his glower to return, more pronounced than ever. After all, nobody in any fairness could expect him to be delighted at the prospect of an extra chore. Sure, they could demand that he do it, as he had every intention of doing, but they couldn't order him to be pleased about it. Still, it was worth a shot at wiggling out of the job, at least temporarily, he reasoned, as he asked aloud, "Mum, should I wait until you receive a return owl from the Hayes' before I begin dusting? What if they can't come? You wouldn't want me to waste time dusting for no reason, would you?"

"You can dust before we get a response from the Hayes'," his mother ruled, and Remus sighed, and vented his exasperation with the whole scenario by jabbing his fork into a piece of waffle with far more vehemence than the task required, strictly speaking. Almost instantly, he rued this demonstration of temper when spears of agony lanced through his arm and hand as a result, thanks to the self-inflicted injuries he had sustained as a werewolf last evening. Not noticing her offspring's displeasure or pain, Mrs. Lupin added, "Even if they can't come, the dusting won't be in vain, so don't worry about that. It is always worthwhile to clean up the place one inhabits, and, besides, you shouldn't really need an excuse to tidy up your home, you know."

Detecting the rebuke in his mum's tone, Remus capitulated, and mumbled obediently, "When I'm dressed, I'll be happy to dust."

By the time he returned from getting dressed, and had returned downstairs to the kitchen to fetch the potions and other equipment necessary to dust, the Hayes' had already replied that they would be honored to accept the Lupins' invitation. Remus moaned when he learned of this, and dusted the house as slowly as he possibly could without his mother getting suspicious, and hovering over him like a wasp. Still, despite his molasses-paced progress, he eventually completed dusting, and was assigned a host more chores to accomplish, and it was only a few minutes before dinner that he had finished with them all, and had any free time whatsoever, yet, he knew that if he hadn't dawdled, he would just have been forced to do more chores.

He spent the following day in a similar bondage, and when the doorbell finally rang at five o'clock sharp, and he had just plumped up the last sofa pillow, Remus was feeling very hostile to the Hayes family as a whole, and only reluctantly trailed down the hallway to the front door behind his parents to welcome their visitors.

Beaming as though she hadn't just slaved to make her house lovely for her guests, or as if she didn't mind doing so in the slightest, Mrs. Lupin opened the door, and admitted her guests.

A grinning and towering man strode over to shake hands with Remus' father, and then introduced his wife, who was an apple-cheeked, smiling, and rotund woman, and his daughter, who was, in fact, Remus' age.

Before Remus was aware of exactly what was occurring, he discovered that his parents had betrayed him by volunteering him for the task of entertaining the Hayes girl, which was not a good thing, because what Remus knew about the opposite gender he could count on one hand. All he understood about girls was that they shrieked and giggled frequently, and did not enjoy the same activities as boys did, and were petrified of things like spiders that boys found fascinating. Frankly, that was all he needed to know about girls, and he had no notion how in the name of all that was holy he was going to be able to keep this one occupied for the next two hours until supper was served.

As his mum and dad directed Mr. and Mrs. Hayes into the living room for appetizers that he knew were revolting, and edible only for adults who had apparently lost their taste buds owing to old age, Remus eyed the girl, Marlene, out of the corner of his eyes. She was a slender, slight sprite with snapping lapis lazuli eyes, and auburn ringlets that were struggling to escape the confines of a shoulder length ponytail. Her energy crackled so much that Remus could feel it quivering in the air.

"Let me know when you're finished with the analysis." Marlene's overlarge teeth were revealed when she smiled at him, and nudged him in the shoulder with her arm, because she wasn't quite tall enough to reach his shoulder with her own, due to her small build.

"Huh?" Remus frowned at her, bemused. That confirmed it: girls were certifiably insane. "My analysis of what?"

"Of me," chuckled Marlene, her laugh far more robust than Remus had anticipated someone of her stature could produce. "Aren't you analyzing me right now?"

Seeing the friendly expression on the face of his female counterpart, Remus decided not to bother denying this allegation. Instead, he offered her a tiny, hesitant grin, and confessed, "I haven't reached any conclusions yet." Suddenly, he recollected his manners, and gestured toward the sitting room. "Do you want to have some appetizers? Dad made his artichoke cracker dip."

"Artichoke dip?" Marlene wrinkled up her nose in disgust. "No, thank you. I'll take the alligator soup, instead, please."

"I'm sorry, but we're all out of that, due to heavy demand," commented Remus wryly. "Would you care for some crocodile stew in place of it, though?"

"All right, although I much prefer alligator soup." Marlene feigned a regretful sigh.

"Do you want to go and play upstairs in my bedroom for awhile?" he inquired, pointing in the direction of the stairwell that lead up to his room. Apologetically, he stated, "I'm afraid I don't have any dolls or anything."

"I don't play with dolls," Marlene educated him, sticking up her nose huffily, as she marched past him upstairs. When Remus had caught up with her, and they were dashing up the steps together, she amended, "I much prefer flying. Do you have any brooms?"

"Just one," answered Remus, as they entered his bedroom, and crossed over to his closet, and grabbed it out of its corner. He strode back across the room, and placed it in her outstretched hand. "Here you go."

"Let's have a competition to discover who flies better," she announced, as she climbed onto the broomstick in one fluid motion.

At her works, Remus hesitated. "Dad says that it's not polite to compete with girls," he hedged.

"You're just being a coward," she scoffed, kicking off from the ground in one smooth move, "and you're right to be afraid."

With that, she stuck out her tongue at him, and then sped around the room, and she didn't just fly with the speed of a hurricane. Also, she performed an astonishing repertoire of jaw-dropping stunts, including dives at the ground, souring along upside down, and flipping in mid-air, that left Remus breathless, watching her with his mouth agape.

Finally, she grew weary of flying, or else exhausted all her energy, and landed nimbly upon the floor once again. After putting the broom down, she flopped down, sweaty, and flushed, but beaming, on the bed on the left side of her peer. "Your turn," she panted.

"No," he demurred, bashfully studying his feet to ignore gazing back at her. "I'm nowhere near as good as you are, and I'll just humiliate myself."

To his relief, Marlene didn't press him to fly, but rather just demanded in an earnest voice, "Do you really think that I'm that skilled a flyer?"

"Yep," he affirmed, bobbing his head in confirmation of this assertion. "You're the best kid I've seen at flying."

Fortunately, she didn't inquire as to how many children he had witnessed on a broomstick, because that group was basically limited to her and Chet, even though he knew that she was something special, at least on a broom, although he couldn't explain how he had concluded this, because that would be like asking him how he could discern that a fire was hot. However, Marlene just whispered, "Do you reckon that I'll make my House Quidditch team at Hogwarts?"

"Yeah," Remus responded through the constriction that formed in his throat at the mention of Hogwarts, a place he believed that he could never set his eyes upon, except for in his wildest dreams, where he hadn't been munched upon by a werewolf.

"I hope I am," admitted Marlene, "because that's my goal."

"Best of luck to you, then."

"I don't like to think that I need luck," she grumbled.

"Gibberish. Everyone needs luck, especially Quidditch players, as the odds of their getting their brains bashed our considerably higher than they are for everybody else. So, anyhow, what position do you play?"

"Chaser," she replied firmly.

"You'll score so many points, then, that you'll leave scorch marks on the scoreboard, because it will be moving so quickly just trying to keep up with the goals you score for your side," he promised her.

Marlene giggled, and then posed a peculiar question. "Hey, Remus, you don't happen to have a nickname, do you?"

"Nah." Remus shook his head in negation. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I think that you and I could become friends, and friends call each other by their nicknames."

For some reason, Remus did not find the notion of being buddies with a female as awkward as he would have when she first came to over, and smiled. "I'd like to be friends with you, I think. So, do you have a nickname?"

"No, I'm just Marlene," she stated. "Like yours, my name doesn't exactly lend itself to nicknames, as you might have noticed."

"I did," Remus informed her, grinning.

A companionable silence descended between the two of them for a minute, and then Marlene pressed, "It's agreed, then? We'll be friends forever?"

"Yes, we'll be friends forever," responded Remus somberly, because he took friendship seriously. In his opinion, it was a weighty obligation not to be entered into lightly, as crucial as a binding legal contract.

The words hard barely escaped his mouth when Mrs. Lupin called them down for supper, and they darted downstairs, and into the dining room, where Marlene asked if Remus could come over to play sometime soon.

A playdate was arranged for that Wednesday, and, as easily as that, Remus had his first friend, or he thought that he did, at any rate, although now that he paused to consider the matter, he wondered if he ought to have confessed to her that he was a werewolf.

No, he determined, as he bit into his turkey, he had been correct not to tell her. After all, Marlene might not have been a typical girl by many standards, but chances were that she would still run away screaming if he revealed that he was a werewolf, and Remus had no desire to lose his first real friend.


	7. Chapter 7

Guts and Glory

That playdate went well, and soon it became two, and then three, and then the sleepovers started. Before Remus knew it, Marlene was as much a part of his life as the air that he breathed into his lungs, and was just as essential to his survival. Somehow, she brightened his existence, and filled a void buried so deeply inside him that he hadn't even registered existed until she had settled inside it snugly, and without a fuss.

She even rendered his agonizing transformations somewhat more endurable, because, although she couldn't be there physically, especially as he hadn't informed her that he was a werewolf yet, since he was terrified of losing her if she was aware of the truth, she still functioned as a balm to him, as long as he could carry an image of her strength and courage about inside his head. Doubtlessly, she would be able to endure such monthly pains if they had been forced upon her, something he fervently prayed would never occur, because him suffering was horrid enough, but the notion of her battling what he did every month was even more dreadful, if that was possible, which, apparently, it was, so he would strive to go through every transformation with as much dignity as possible. Still, he always emerged from every transformation with a host of new cuts lining his arms and legs, which testified to the fact that he had attempted to devour himself when he could discover no other source of meat.

Remus and Marlene had been best mates for several years when their parents both agreed that they were old enough to remain alone together, while Mr. and Mrs. Lupin went out to dinner and then attended a Mermish opera in London, which was why the two almost-nine-year-olds were laying on their stomachs on Remus' floor at six-thirty in the evening, completing a three game tournament of Wizarding chess. Remus had emerged victorious in two of the three matches, since he was a superior strategist to his slight companion, who relied upon improvising and dash perhaps too much.

"Do you want to have another tournament?" inquired the lad, as he captured the girl's alabaster queen with his obsidian knight.

"No, thank you," Marlene responded in a clipped voice, as she scooped up her few remaining pieces, and dumped them into the tin container, which rattled in protest at this unjustly harsh treatment.

"You're being a sore loser, aren't you?" teased Remus, as he started returning his considerably more numerous remaining black figures to the box.

"And you're being an insufferable git," she retorted, flushing to the roots of her auburn hair, as her eyes sizzled at him like the hottest region of a blazing fire. "Besides, for your information, I don't lose, ever."

"Really?" As he gestured at the chessboard before him, Remus arched his eyebrows at her. "What do you call this, then?"

"A self-esteem booster for you that you desperately need," she educated him tersely. "You see, I _let_ you win."

"You allowed me to win, and my name is Merlin," he laughed. When she glowered at him, he proposed, "Let's have a re-match, shall we? This time, you don't have to be noble and modest, and can play to the best of your abilities, so that we can plainly see who is the better chess player."

"I don't feel like playing anymore chess tonight," she answered, as he anticipated that she would do.

"Why not?" he pressed, placing the game neatly back on the shelf where it belonged when it was not in use. "That was a fun tournament, after all."

"It would have been better if I'd won," grumbled Marlene, as he sat down on the floor beside her.

"Don't you ever give-up?" Remus demanded, his lips quirking upward in amusement.

"Never." She grinned, her eyes gleaming at him, and shoved herself to her feet. "Come on, let's go cook up that box of spaghetti your mum left for us. I'm so hungry that I could eat seven cows, four chickens, and two turkeys, and still have enough room for custard and cheesecake for dessert."

"Didn't your mother and father ever explain to you that when you're starving discussing food doesn't help in the slightest, and actually serves to make you hungrier?" Remus mumbled, as they descended the staircase, and directed their steps down the corridor toward the kitchen once they reached the ground floor.

"They probably did." Unfazed, Marlene shrugged. "However, it most likely happened during the ninety-nine point nine percent of the time that I wasn't paying attention to a word they said."

"You're supposed to mind your parents," remarked Remus sternly, while he crossed over to the stove, and started reading the instructions on the back of the spaghetti box his mum had left for him and Marlene to cook up for themselves.

"Sometimes, you're far too serious." Beaming, she strode over to join him, as he loaded an enormous steel pot with water from the sink. "You're supposed to terrorize your parents, otherwise they'll lose all connections with the joys of their youth, and become useless old people."

Ignoring this peculiar sentiment, Remus inquired, "Do you prefer soft or hard spaghetti?"

Marlene chewed her lower lip thoughtfully, and then declared, "I think I like it hard, because I believe that is how my parents bake it."

"Hard it is, in that case," he agreed, switching the temperature to the number indicated on the box, and setting the timer for the right number of minutes.

Once the spaghetti had started cooking on the stove, the pair of children plopped into chairs next to each other at the kitchen table. "We should have a desert, too," announced Marlene after they had been sitting for a moment or two.

Remus rose, and walked the two steps over to the freezer, and, after checking its contents, stated, "We've got a pint of Neapolitan ice cream in here, but Dad probably ate all the chocolate out of it again, as he always does, even though Mum orders him not to do so."

"Ice cream is boring," grunted Marlene. After establishing as much, she pushed herself out of her seat, and flounced over to a cabinet, and rummaged inside it for a moment, before emitting a squeal of triumph. "Here's some brownie mix! We can make it."

"I don't know if we should," muttered a frowning Remus, thinking that his mother might have been saving it for something.

"Don't be such a stick in the swamp," Marlene pouted prettily at him, as she withdrew a massive metal bowl from the lazy-susan. "Imagine the delicious taste of fresh baked brownies, how the rich chocolate flavor will flood your mouth, and the dulcet aroma will overwhelm your nose."

"Oh, all right, then," he relented, envisioning himself feasting on a soft, yummy brownie, and washing it down with swallows of cool, refreshing, and creamy mike, and feeling his stomach growl. Obviously, pasta would not sate his hunger now, and it was all Marlene's fault. "I don't need to hear all the details."

"Of course you don't, since I've already whetted your appetite," she chuckled, while he snatched the packet of brownie mix out of her hands, and began combining the ingredients in the bowl as the directions instructed.

"Would you please get me the sugar?" he requested of her, after he had poured in the appropriate amounts of the other ingredients into the concoction, which was now mud-colored, that was in the bowl. He pointed at the cabinet across the room. "It's in that one, over there."

"I've got it," replied Marlene, racing over to the cabinet, and yanking it open. Within a handful of seconds, she returned with the sugar in her right hand, and two cinnamon sticks in her left.

"We don't need those." Remus nodded his head at the cinnamon sticks to illustrate what he was referring to, as he relieved her of the sugar, and dumped two cups of it into the substance in the bowl. "The recipe doesn't call for cinnamon."

"No, but life does," Marlene smiled, and offered one stick to her comrade. "Life calls for tons of spice, I reckon."

"You expect me to eat this raw?" He eyed the brown stick dubiously. "It's supposed to taste horrible raw, and I've only ever had it with warm apple cider to dull down the spice in it."

"No guts, no glory," she commented haughtily, and popped the stick into her mouth, where she gnawed off a hunk of it. The next second, she had keeled over, gasping, coughing, and clutching her throat, as though afraid it was about to topple off her.

"I don't have anything to prove on that count," he noted with a trace of bitterness, as she dashed over to the sink, and gulped down at least a gallon's worth of water, with her cupped hands serving as drinking vessels, "since I already know that I've got guts, as I've seen them spilling out of me, so I have learned that, although they may not be attractive, I've still got them, which is something, I guess."

"What do you mean by that?" Marlene frowned at him, as she returned from the sink at last. "Why have you seen your innards?"

"It was a joke," Remus mumbled, pretending to focus extensively on stirring the brownie mix.

"You never joke, and you know it, Remus."

"Fine, you want to hear the truth, do you? Well, you'd better hope that you're brave enough to live with it once I tell you," he exploded, in a rare demonstration of wrath. Perversely satisfied by the appalled expression in her bright blueberry eyes, he tossed down the spatula, and ranted on, "The truth is that I've been lying to you all along, Marlene!"

"What? I don't understand," she stuttered, gazing at him, as though he had just stated that his home planet was Jupiter, and he was waiting for his alien parents to rescue him from Earth.

"I was bitten by a werewolf, which means that I am one, and I've been one since before you met me, and I've never mentioned it until now," he snapped, whirling away from her, and stalking toward the door, because he didn't wish to glimpse the horrified betrayal that would fill her eyes, which were truly windows into the depths of her soul, in the next second, after she had absorbed this revelation, even if he was somewhat relieved to tell her the truth after all these years, and to release the burden of keeping his secret from her. "Don't worry, though, because you don't have to say a word, or invent a polite excuse never to see me again, for I'll just go away from you now, and I'll never invite you over again, and I don't expect you to invite me over again, either, so―"

"Remus!" To his surprise the sound of Marlene's feet smacking the tiles as she ran across the kitchen was followed by her reaching out a hand to touch him―him, the werewolf who could probably contaminate her, as far as she was concerned, with his contagious ailment. Stunned, he pivoted back to face her, as she tugged on his elbow.

Immediately, he regretted doing so, because he saw a look he had never encountered in her eyes before. Paradoxically enough, her eyes were both harder and softer than he had ever seen them. "Why didn't you tell me about this?"

"Because I knew you would leave me, as you're going to." Remus kept his tone harsh, so that she wouldn't suspect how much her abandonment would crush him. She had fulfilled him, and made him whole in ways nobody else could, and she would be the one who shattered him in the end. Yes, there was a twisted rationality, or cosmic sensibility, to that, and it made sense that the person he loved most in the world beside his parents would destroy him, since the beings one loved the most would always hurt one the most in the final analysis.

"I'm not going to leave." Marlene's eyes seared him. "Unless, of course, you persist in treating me like a wad of dung, which, last time I checked, I'm not, in which case, I'll lave you, because I don't need friends who are going to insult me, thank you very much."

"I'm not insulting you!" Remus argued, shocked.

"Yeah, you are," she snorted. "You're implying that I'm such a coward that I would abandon my friend merely because he's got a problem―"

"A problem that could put you in danger," Remus reminded her.

"You've never endangered me before, and, besides, nothing worthwhile in life is undertaken without risks. Being friends with someone is not a safe endeavor. My loyalty to you won't shift just because you're a werewolf." Marlene dismissed this with a simple wave of her hand, as if the fact that he turned into a savage beast once a month was of minimal consequence to her, and he gaped at her, as though he had never laid eyes upon a girl before in his life.

He supposed that this made sense, because he had never fully seen his buddy before, and now that he had a full view of the depth of her courage, and her commitment to him, he never wanted to avert his gaze from her. She might not be beautiful on the outside, but on the inside, where such things mattered the most, she had a gorgeous soul, and, if Remus had been more into God and religion, stuff he hadn't really been into since Uncle Brendan's death and his own werewolf attack, he might have regarded her as proof of a divine presence on earth.

Before Remus could choke out a response, Marlene had lurched forward, and wrapped her slender, deceptively weak-looking, arms about him, and enveloped him in a lung-crushing embrace. He was too alarmed by this abrupt display of affection to hug back, since he and Marlene had never done anything like this in the past, as they were conscious enough of differences in gender to appreciate the awkwardness of this.

"You're my best friend forever," she explained, as she squeezed him tighter, so that he was convinced that she was a boa constrictor in disguise, "and I'll keep you, and never let you go."

"If you don't let me go, you'll murder me," he panted.

Smiling, she released him, and he gulped in as much oxygen from the surroundings as his starving lungs could hold. "I was being figurative, so you weren't supposed to interpret what I said literally." Shaking her head in despair at his thick-headedness, Marlene hurried across the room to finish stirring up the brownie mix.

"This is fun," she remarked, as Remus joined her. Her words tempted fate, for the next second, she stirred too forcefully in her exuberance, and sent a wave of brown concoction onto her white shirt, where it would doubtlessly leave a stain. Seeing her surprise, Remus couldn't prevent himself from chortling, although he was aware that it would inspire his comrade's ire.

"Obviously, my friend is not as loyal to me as I am to him," huffed Marlene, pouring the brownie mix into an oven pan.

"Loyal friends laugh with each other," he pointed out, through gales of laughter.

"I'm not laughing." Marlene greeted this comment with a scowl, as she put the brownie pan in the oven to bake. "By the way, Remus Lupin, you will suffer for this. My revenge may not be swift or particularly inspired, but it will be terrible, I assure you."

"It can't be much worse than your fashion sense," Remus noted wryly, jabbing his finger at the brown splotch on Marlene's once pristine top.

Marlene was denied the opportunity to retort when the timer rang, indicating that the pasta was ready. Remus dished the spaghetti into two bowls, and dumped cold tomato sauce from the refrigerator that he only realized now that he should have heated up, and they both settled themselves at the table with goblets of pumpkin juice to dine.

"This is too hard," Marlene concluded, munching on her first forkful of pasta.

"I guess you are supposed to boil the water before you put the spaghetti in the pot." Remus shrugged, as he bit into his spaghetti, and discovered that it was, indeed, too stiff. "Who knew?"

"Certainly not you, but that's not saying much, since you never know anything," she snickered.

"That's too bad for you, then," he answered, "because you're my best friend, and you said you'd keep me, and never let me go."

"Well, I suppose I did swear as much, and only cowards break their promises," sighed Marlene, "so I figure that I'm stuck with you."

"I guess I can learn to live with you."

"And I with you."

The pair of them exchanged smiles, and then returned to their less than satisfactory meals.


	8. Chapter 8

Climbing Mountains, and Walking on Water

Eleven-year-old Remus Lupin stood facing a sheer cliff that curved along the shoreline of Cape May, where Marlene had a beach house, and had invited him to stay over with her and her parents for their week-long vacation. Since it was early July, and nowhere near the full moon, Mr. and Mrs. Lupin had agreed that their child could go on holiday with the Hayes family.

Remus was aware that he shouldn't be thinking of climbing the cliff freehanded, but for some reason he was. It would be a challenge, and, for some reason, he was in the mood for gobbling up a challenge of some sort today, and, besides, he rationalized, it wasn't so very high. Really, it was more like a gigantic rock, and it shouldn't be too difficult to climb, because, after all, there were handholds and footholds on it, even if he couldn't see them very well from his perspective on the ground. Anyhow, even if he did fall, he would topple into the ocean, and that wouldn't break his spine, or neck, or anything. Still, if he were caught, he would probably be in trouble, but the odds were that he wouldn't get caught, for it was only a little past dawn on a Monday morning, and so most people at Cape May had reluctantly departed from the beach yesterday evening, after a fun weekend in the sun down the shore, and those privileged few who were still on vacation were all in their beds, snoozing.

Abruptly, he heard a rustle behind him, and pivoted to spot Marlene standing on the sand beside him, dressed in a bathing suit, just as he was. In his focus upon the cliff, he had forgotten that she was there next to him, and that they had left her house this morning together, towels in hand, and anti-sun burn potion slobbered all over them, to go down to the beach for the morning together until Mrs. Hayes fetched them in for lunch.

"Are you thinking of climbing it?" Marlene nodded at the cliff to illustrate what the "it" she referred to was.

Startled, Remus was about to negate this, but then he recalled that best friends were not supposed to lie to one another, and that if one told falsehoods in insignificant matters such as this, one would become accustomed to lying, and would find it easy to be deceitful in more important issues, as well, so, in the end, he made no response.

"Come on," she grinned. When he hesitated, not certain that he wished to climb the cliff now that the moment was upon him, and thinking that his best friend ought to have steered him away from such a hazardous course rather than encouraged him onto it, she added with a glitter of competition in her eyes, "I'll bet that I can beat you to the top, sluggard."

With that, she ran and launched herself at the rock without waiting for him to reply. As she grabbed her first handhold, he paused, astounded at how eagerly she had attacked the rock, and appeared to mold herself against it. At this point, she waited until Remus sighed, and then, surrendering, raced forward, and joined her.

Climbing the cliff turned out to be far harder than Remus had envisioned. The handholds that he had imagined would be firm from his position on solid ground were, in reality, impossibly tiny, and instable. Before long, the rock had become his adversary, and it was tricky to keep his balance, as sweat began to pour down his face, obscuring his vision, and sweaty hands made maintaining a purchase more difficult than ever. His muscles were shaking with effort, and he forgot entirely about Marlene's challenge, and concentrated solely on not falling off.

He was three-quarters of the way to the summit, when he glanced to his right at her, and realized that they were neck and neck, and her face was grimy and coated in sweat, although she still managed to smile at him.

Her smile spurred him on, and he found the next handhold, and then the following one. Now, she was behind him, and he was almost to the crest. As he searched for the next handhold, his face pressed against the rough rock, she was suddenly beside him, climbing far more confidently than he was. Then, she was ahead of him before he was fully aware of what was occurring. Her hand reached for the top of the cliff, and she swung herself up and over it, and then sat, panting on the crest, gazing out at the salty sea beneath her, with its foaming blue-green waves.

Remus followed her up, and plopped down beside her, breathing heavily, trying to fill his lungs with air, and ease the tension coiled in every fiber of his muscles at the same time. For a moment, neither of them spoke, as they both stared out at the massive expanse of water before him, the boy feeling overwhelmingly small and helpless when compared with the large, powerful, and timeless geographic feature that was battering the rock that he was currently resting upon. Eventually, this cliff, that seemed so mighty now, would be eroded entirely by the sea, and the ocean alone, of the four of them, him, Marlene, the cliff, and the sea, would endure.

As he gazed out at the Atlantic Ocean, Remus thought about his cousin, Chet, as well. Chet would have started school in Boston by now, doubtlessly, even though Americans had a different and confusing school system of their own, although he was probably on summer holiday. What had Chet been up to in the United States, anyway? Did he like Rhode Island, and Boston? Had he learned to live with his cousins? Did he ever stare out at the sea, and think of England, and everything he had left behind, or had he essentially forgotten it all, and adapted to life in America without a second glance backward?

Remus knew that he could have owled his cousin to receive the answers to these questions, but that was an awkward notion to him, because, after all, he and Chet hadn't really been friends, and Chet probably wouldn't welcome a letter from him, especially if he had been striving to forget his old life in Britain, and, besides, Remus only ever thought about Chet when he was looking out at the ocean, anyway.

Finally, Marlene shattered the silence, by remarking, "Now for the reward. Come on!"

Before he could react, she had shoved herself to her feet, charged forward, and leapt off the end of the rock, straight into the shimmering aquamarine depths so far, far below.

Biting his lip nervously, Remus followed her. As he watched the rock face whizz past him throughout the lengthy drop, his terror mounted, so that his heart was racing at about fifty times its normal rate, and he was gulping down air, but there was nothing he could grab to stop his fall…blast it, he was going to perish, and it was all Marlene's fault, which meant that when they arrived in heaven, he would never chat with her again. Then, his chain of thought was chopped off abruptly, as he dropped into the water, and felt the cool, refreshing shock of it, which banished all rational thought from his mind.

Once he was underwater, he saw that Marlene was down there, holding her breath, and waiting for him to join her. She beamed at him, and Remus felt his anger at her flow out of him, and he grinned back at her, since the cool water surrounding him was wonderful against his sore muscles, and he was elated because he had managed to climb the rock, something he had believed impossible.

Together, they burst up to the surface, and loaded their starved lungs with oxygen. As they caught their breath, Remus looked over at his comrade, and noted that her auburn hair was slicked back off her forehead, so that she now resembled a water creature, sleek and supple. Then, the moment was broken, as Marlene dived underwater, riding a wave that was rumbling toward shore, and sailed away from him, as though she couldn't contain her excitement anymore, although when the wave washed over her, she popped her head up, and shook droplets off her ponytail, the rising sun making the droplets shimmer.

Playfully, she clasped his hands, and dragged him under the next wave. He emerged from under it gasping, and dunked her under the next one in revenge. She retaliated by doing the same thing, and so did he. The tenth time he pushed her underwater, Marlene did not come bobbing up again, and, after a moment without any sight of her, Remus began to panic. Perhaps he had shoved her under too hard, or the wave had been too strong and had dragged her out to sea, or perhaps she had drowned…

"Marlene!" he hollered, swimming around the area where he had last seen her in a frantic quest to find her, preferably alive and whole. "Marlene! Where are you?"

He received no answer, but he hadn't really been anticipating one, and was midway through shouting out her name when he was suddenly assailed from behind, and pushed underwater. The surprise attack meant that he did not have enough time to close his eyes, or plug his nose, and he emerged from the water with bloodshot eyes and a stinging nose.

"I'm going to kill you," he warned Marlene, who was chortling behind him.

"First you'll have to catch me," she retorted, unconcerned, as she sped past him, swimming like an eel, toward shore.

Grumbling, he swam after her. It turned out that he was not nearly as excellent a swimmer as his athletic counterpart, but perhaps she took pity upon him, because she collapsed down on the moist sand once she reached shore, allowing him the opportunity to pounce upon her. When he jumped on her, she attempted to push him off, but he clung to her tenaciously, and a wrestling match began in earnest, both of them pinning and shoving each other, as they rolled down the beach, exchanging insults through fits of giggles.

"You can't win, you know," grunted Remus, when he had her underneath him, kicking, and punching his back, "because you're too short."

"I'm not short," she snarled, pulling him off her, and leaping on top of him, instead.

"That's right," he teased, as they shifted positions again. "You're vertically challenged, not short."

"Perhaps I am short," commented Marlene, while she flipped over, and managed to reverse the fight, so that she was on top once more, "but short people are like dynamite, you know."

"Yeah, if I push the right buttons, you'll explode," he observed, panting now, as she pressed her advantage, coming in for the kill.

"Exactly," she agreed, rolling off him, and Remus marveled at the feeling of relief that coursed through him when she did so. For some reason, he was more conscious of her legs being entangled with his than he had ever been before, and he had never before noticed just how much of her was exposed by her two-piece bathing suit.

"I love swimming," Marlene continued, her tone more dreamy, as she got to her feet, and walked closer to the water, so that the waves that crashed upon the shore would wash over her. "I hope that I can swim in the lake at Hogwarts in May and June."

"Exams are around that time," he reminded her, as he joined her, and a wave broke over his ankles. The water engulfed him, and then receded, returning to its mother, the ocean, its movements providing him with the illusion that he himself was gliding along, instead of buried deeply in the sand.

"There will be plenty of time for swimming and studying," she dismissed this argument with barely a second's thought. As another wave broke upon them, this time only slightly below their knee caps, she asked, "It will be great to go off to Hogwarts, won't it?"

"For you, it will be great, but for me, I'm afraid that it won't happen," sighed Remus.

"You haven't received the acceptance letter?" Marlene frowned at him. "Why ever not? I've seen you perform magic accidentally, so you're no Squib―"

"Oh, I received the note," he informed her on a bitter laugh, "but Mum and Dad don't think that it is a good idea for me to go, because I'm, you know―" Here he glanced around the beach to make sure that it was, indeed, empty save for the pair of them, and then resumed in a whisper― "a werewolf, and they don't think that it is safe for me to attend school with all those other children, and they believe that if word were to get out that a werewolf was in attendance at Hogwarts, parents would go ballistic. Besides, they'd have to tell the headmaster about it, and chances are, he won't agree to my going, anyhow, once he learns the truth about me. Hogwarts is dangerous enough with all those underaged and untrained wizards without a werewolf boy."

"The headmaster might say yes," hedged Marlene. "After all, there is a new headmaster there, Albus Dumbledore, and he's famous for defending Muggleborns, so he probably will take your side, too, if you let him."

"Werewolves are more dangerous than Muggleborns," he argued. "Muggleborns are people, whereas werewolves are beasts. Don't forget that."

"Werewolves are people, too, who are transformed into beasts once a month, that's all," Marlene established vehemently. "The rest of the time, they are human, and deserve the same rights as everyone else. They should be able to go to school and everything just like the rest of us. Nobody should have the right to deny somebody else the freedoms they take for granted, and, besides, your parents' tax money goes to funding Hogwarts, as well, so their son is entitled to attend, just like the rest of us!"

Remus couldn't help but smile at his fiery friend, who was so outraged at injustice, and so convinced that the prejudice he faced could easily be overcome by appeals to justice and rationality.

"So you suggest that I march up to the school, and demand that Professor Dumbledore admit me, even if I am a werewolf?" He arched his eyebrows at her sardonically. "Then, he'll just agree, and make some sort of arrangement for me, and we'll all live happily ever after, right?"

"No," snapped Marlene, indignant at his mockery, "I'm suggesting that you ask your parents, who are supposed to be your advocates, to write a note to Professor Dumbledore explaining your condition, and requesting to meet with him personally to discuss what arrangements can be made for your education. Once a meeting is arranged, you and your parents can make him understand how much you want to go to school, and how much it would mean to you if you were permitted to attend, and how it would be a great injustice if you weren't allowed to attend. Surely, he'll see reason, then, if he is half as wise and noble as everyone describes him as, and you'll be able to go to school."

"My parents don't want think that it is a brilliant idea for me to go to Hogwarts," Remus stated dryly, "so I doubt that they'll write the letter, or speak for me with Dumbledore."

"They won't if you don't convince them to," Marlene groaned in exasperation, as a wave smashed against Remus' knees. "You've got to start standing up for yourself, Remus, because nobody else is going to do so, and if you don't take control of your life, you're going to look back on it with nothing but regret, because you weren't able to do any of the things that you dreamed of doing, and it'll all be your fault, because you allowed everybody else to dictate your life!"

"Oh, it's so easy for you to say," Remus replied, "but that's because you're not in my position. For Merlin's sake, Marlene, I know that Dumbledore's going to say no, even if I do get my parents to agree to my scheme―"

"So what if he does?" interjected his companion, rolling her eyes. "If he refuses your request, you'll be no worse off than you are now, since you won't be going either way, but if you don't ask there's no way that you're going, unless he can read your little mind from Hogwarts, and decides to inform you that he has no problem with you going, even if you are a werewolf."

"Keep your voice down," he hissed at her, because her volume had risen throughout this speech, even though they were alone on the beach. "For the record, he'll believe that I'm an idiot if I ask him to take me in even though I'm a werewolf."

"Don't let what others think have so much power over you!" Marlene exploded. "Just have faith in yourself. You know that you're intelligent, and so do all the people who matter in your life. If Dumbledore says no, he's the fool, not you."

Remus opened his mouth to dispute this, and then, discovered to his own horrified astonishment that he couldn't do so. In the end, he stuttered out, "I'll―I'll convince Mum and Dad to write to him when I return home."

"Do you swear it?" Marlene's keen eyes locked upon his.

"Yes," he whispered.

Satisfied with his oath, she nodded, and grasped his wrists. "Listen to me," she ordered. "You have as much right as anyone to go to Hogwarts, and remember that everyone turns into a beast every once in a while. In fact, you're lucky that you're only dangerous once a month, because I'm a bear at least once a week, as you know."

"I'll keep that in mind," Remus smiled. Staring out at the ocean, he was startled that he didn't feel so small, because, when he gazed at the cliff, he recalled how he had accomplished what he had previously deemed impossible, and how he could indeed climb mountains long before he even knew that he could do so. If he could triumph over the cliff, then he could convince his parents and Dumbledore to permit him to attend Hogwarts, it was as simple as that, he decided, as a wave crashed over him, and then pulled back into the sea, its movements making him feel as though he were walking upon the water, which was the most uplifting sensation imaginable, much like looking down at creation from the top of the world would be.


	9. Chapter 9

Promises

"So, how was your vacation with Marlene, dear?" inquired Mrs. Lupin of her son at supper on the evening of his return home from the shore with the Hayes family.

"It was excellent!" Remus exclaimed, his face glowing. "Marlene and I went swimming everyday, and I had loads of fun with her!"

"That's lovely," his mum remarked between bites of mashed potato. "You know, it's so nice for you to have another child to play with."

"Marlene is more than just a playmate, though," pointed out Remus, eating his chicken. "She's my best friend in the whole wide world. She's someone that I can trust and confide in." On a surge of inspiration, he added, figuring that he might as well get the worst over with, "For instance, a few days ago I explained to her why I couldn't attend Hogwarts, and she reckons that I should be permitted to go, like everybody else is."

"That fire-top would say something foolhardy like that," scowled Mr. Lupin.

"Why is it foolish, Dad?" the boy demanded, and was astonished to discover that it was less challenging to defend Marlene than it was to defend himself.

"We've discussed this before," his dad sighed into his goblet of milk. "You are aware that Hogwarts is hazardous enough, since it is full of young witches and wizards who have not yet mastered the art of controlling their powers, without a werewolf there."

"I only transform once a month," he argued. "The rest of the time I'm exactly like everybody else."

"Granted, but it's that time where you are transformed that concerns me," responded Mr. Lupin. "Son, you know as well as I do that when you are a werewolf, you have no self-discipline, and that you would surely have bitten your mum and I, and several unfortunate neighbors, by now, if we did not keep you locked up in the cellar at the full moon."

"Hogwarts is larger than our house, so there must be a place where they can put me during the full moon where I won't endanger anybody," Remus reasoned, echoing Marlene without being full conscious of it.

"Hogwarts also houses approximately one thousand pupils in addition to about twenty professors, the caretaker, and the gamekeeper, so there isn't much spare space," his father reminded him dryly.

"They could place me in the dungeons," insisted Remus, shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth between his words to conceal his discomfiture at the notion, because he was positive that being locked in a dungeon would be worse than being locked in the family basement. Sill, it would be preferable to never going to Hogwarts at all.

"The Slytherin dormitories are down there somewhere, and there would be a risk of you attacking one that stayed out past curfew, which is an unjustly harsh punishment, many would claim."

"What about one of the towers, then?"

"One is the Gryffindor dorms, the other is the Ravenclaw one, as you know, you can't have a werewolf in the Owlery, as that would be worse than locking a fox in a henhouse, and Professor Sinstra would not thank you if you were in her Astronomy tower when she is stargazing," answered Mr. Lupin.

"Well, the Hogwarts professors could find a way to manage it, since they're so much smarter than I am," countered Remus, who could devise no other possible location for him to imprison himself once a month.

"I'm certain that they could, if they wished to," his dad allowed, "however, I doubt that they'll want to."

"Teachers should want to help their students, and should want as many children as possible to be educated properly," commented Remus, spearing a slice of chicken with his fork.

"The operative word in that sentence is 'should.'" Mr. Lupin offered his child a peculiar, twisted smile. "A great deal of things that should be aren't so, and an equally great amount of things that shouldn't be are so, and the sooner you come to terms with that unpleasant reality, the happier you'll be."

"You see, dear, that many people are prejudiced about werewolves," his wife intervened, her tone gentle. "Therefore, not only will the teachers be reluctant to have you at school, but if word gets out that you are a werewolf, you'll have to face insults and violence from other students."

"I know that, Mum." Remus heaved an exasperated sigh. Really, sometimes she behaved as though she was quite convinced that he had been born last week. Seriously, did she believe that he had not noticed that werewolves were hated and feared by roughly ninety-nine percent of Wizarding society? Did she think for one moment that he didn't know that werewolves were ostracized, generally forced to live in their own savage communities apart from others, something that only encouraged the stereotypes against them, and denied the same employment opportunities as everyone else was? "But I can't give into prejudice, and I can't allow bigots to dictate my life. I have to go to school, or else I'll never have any chance at all of being successful when I grow up. After all, if I want a real job, I'll need a Hogwarts education."

"I doubt that you'll be permitted to attend Hogwarts." His father shook his head.

"Is there a law against it?" A trace of heat entered Remus' voice as he demanded as much. Obviously, Marlene's passion had somehow seeped into him, and he wasn't sure whether or not this was a benefit― all he knew was that it was a fact, and there was no profit in denying it.

"To my knowledge, there isn't, but I'm no lawyer," Mr. Lupin admitted.

However, Remus seized on the first part of his sentence, and ignored the second. "See, it's my right to go to school, because every magical child in Britain is allowed to go to Hogwarts, I received a letter just like everyone else so I must have adequate potential, and you both pay taxes to support the school, so you have the right to send your child there, just the same as everybody else does. I deserve an education, and nobody that has been educated, or wants their children to be educated, should deprive me of the opportunity to learn at school."

"You're not the only child on the planet who is unable to attend school," observed Mr. Lupin. "Poor children all over Latin America and Africa can't go to school, and girls in many Muslim countries are not allowed to go to school, because women are deemed as the weaker sex that is unworthy of, and will only be ruined by, education."

"So, it's okay to refuse to grant me my rights, because other people on the globe are being denied theirs?" Remus scoffed, too irate to be appalled by his own insolence. "We should justify injustice by citing other examples of unfairness, and that somehow makes it acceptable, because other people are enduring the same thing, or worse?"

"Your dad didn't mean that," Mrs. Lupin attempted to soothe her son, but he was too far into his rant, releasing the emotions and thoughts that he had stored inside him for years, ever since he had become a werewolf, to listen to her, or cease his tirade now.

"I don't think that it does, even if my opinion doesn't matter, because I'm just a stupid little boy," he concluded. "I believe that you've got to stand up against injustice whenever you encounter it, and that just because you can't save everybody in the world from unfairness, that's no reason not to help one person or a group of people when their being treated unjustly. Anyhow, if you two really did love me, you would stand up for me, and for my rights! You'd write to Professor Dumbledore, and convince him to let me go to school just like everybody else! Or you'd _try_ at the very least!"

Now that his diatribe was finished, Remus had the unpleasant realization that his dad, who clearly did not appreciate being berated by his own offspring, especially at such length and in such a tone, was glowering at him, and he cringed. He was going to be in so much trouble for his impertinence, and he wasn't going to be allowed to go to Hogwarts, and it was all Marlene's fault, because she had been the one who had inspired him to do this, with all her idealistic contentions that were wonderful in theory, but impossible in practice. Oh, he hated her for getting him into trouble with her passions, but he loathed himself even more for listening to her. Honestly, hadn't he learned anything from his experiences with Chet? Obviously not, if he permitted himself to be manipulated so simply by Marlene. Sure, Marlene probably had better intentions than his cousin had, but did intentions really matter in the end, if the net result was identical? No, they didn't, or, at least they didn't in Remus' humble opinion.

"Don't speak to me like that ever again," snapped his father, waving his fork in a threatening gesture at his son. "You're not too old to spanked, remember." Then, he softened, perhaps because he caught sight of the vulnerable expression on the lad's face, and continued in a milder voice, "Such disrespect is unneeded, Remus. After all, I'm not your real enemy, and neither is your mother. Both of us only want what is best for you, and want to protect you― it's the rest of the world that you've got to be concerned with. However, if it means so much to you, I will write to the headmaster, and ask for him to meet with us, so that we can explain your condition. I'll let him be the one who disillusions you."

"You'll write to Professor Dumbledore?" Remus repeated, staring at his father in delighted incredulity. It seemed impossible that he was about to get what he desired after he had been rude.

"Yes, that's what I said." Mr. Lupin bobbed his head in confirmation, and Remus whopped, and dashed out of his chair to squeeze his dad gratefully. Apparently somewhat wrong-footed by this intense display, the man patted him on the back once or twice before pushing him away, ordering, "Calm yourself. Sit back down now, and finish your meal."

Obediently, a beaming Remus raced back over to his seat, and dug into his supper with renewed vigor. Although they were cold now, he thought that his mashed potatoes and chicken had never tasted so scrumptious, because he had managed to convince his parents to write to Professor Dumbledore, and, out of courtesy, the headmaster would surely have to agree to meet with them, and if he met with them, Remus was convinced that he could force the old man to see that it was only fair that he be permitted the same chances as everyone else, and provided with the same education as all the other little witches and wizards in England. Yes, he would be going to Hogwarts, he just knew it, and he loved Marlene more than ever, since she had been the one who had lent him the courage necessary to achieve his greatest goal, and his wildest dream.

The next morning at breakfast, Mr. Lupin announced that he had owled Professor Dumbledore, and the headmaster had agreed to meet with them two days from now at one o'clock in the afternoon. At first, Remus was excited by the prospect of meeting with Dumbledore so soon, since that meant that he could convince the man to permit him to attend school sooner rather than later, but as the time of the meeting neared, he became more and more anxious, because he became more and more certain that Dumbledore wouldn't really listen to him or his parents, and he would never get to attend Hogwarts, and this was just a matter of formality, a final appeal before the death sentence was issued.

At lunch on the day that Dumbledore was to visit, Remus was so nervous that he could only nibble at his roast beef and cheddar sandwich. His dad's frequent reminders to mind his manners, because Dumbledore was a wizard who deserved to be treated with utmost respect, since he could easily be talking with the Minster of Magic, or the International Confederation of Wizards, or the Mugwump, instead of meeting with them about the absurd and unprecedented idea of admitting a werewolf into Hogwarts, did nothing to soothe Remus' nerves.

In the end, he tossed three-quarters of his meal into the trash bin, despite his mother's scolding about the dreadful waste, and how the poor children in Africa would love to get their hands on his sandwich. As he wandered into the living room, so that he would be ready when Dumbledore arrived, Remus thought that the unfortunate boys and girls in Africa were more than welcome to his food, because he couldn't eat it, due to the fact that his mouth really didn't want to move, his throat had no interest in swallowing, and his stomach had no desire to digest anything, since it was too preoccupied with performing all sorts of loop-the-loops and marvelous gymnastic feast inside him.

Finally, at exactly one o'clock, before Remus had an opportunity to give in to his urge to vomit all over the sitting room carpet, the doorbell rang, and Mr. Lupin hastened to answer it, as his spouse placed a platter of cinnamon buns and a teapot of hot chocolate that would have made Remus ravenous under any other circumstances, but that today only increased his nausea, on the coffee table.

Far too soon for Remus' liking, Mr. Lupin entered the living room alongside a towering man with a long white beard, and sparkling cerulean eyes that called to mind a blue jay's plumage. As the headmaster of the school that Remus dreamed of attending settled himself in the lounge chair that Mr. Lupin had indicated, Remus studied him covertly, and decided that he didn't look cruel, but appearances could be deceiving, after all, and it was best not to rely on him as an ally until he had proven beyond all rational doubt that he was one.

"Oh, lunch!" commented Dumbledore, his grin broadening, as he scooped up a cinnamon roll, dumped it on a plate, and took a gigantic bite of it. "Nothing like cinnamon buns to fill an empty stomach, that's what I always say!"

"There's hot chocolate, as well," Mrs. Lupin educated him, pouring him a cup of it.

"You spoil me," smiled Dumbledore, as he accepted the teacup full of hot cocoa. After taking a few polite sips, he focused his attention on Remus. "I assume that you are Remus, the boy whose circumstances I just received a letter upon the other day."

"Yes, sir," Remus responded in a voice that was only scarcely above a whisper. For some reason, this man intimidated him. It wasn't that the old professor emitted a sense that his benevolence was in any manner affected, and would soon be removed to reveal his true nature of cruelty, but he did emanate a sense of power, and that scared Remus, because he already knew that power was dangerous, and sometimes power foisted itself upon beings that were unable to control it, and then the results were disastrous.

At this point, Mr. Lupin cleared his throat, and then began, "Professor Dumbledore, my wife, my son, and I are all well aware that Remus' situation is quite unusual―"

"It certainly is," assented Dumbledore gravely. "After all, most of the time, it is far more of a problem to get students to want to attend school."

"Yes, well, as I was saying," Remus' father resumed after a moment's pause in which he seemed to recover from his surprise at the headmaster's remark, "the three of us understand entirely just how dangerous it is for a werewolf to attend Hogwarts, but you must realize that―"

Here, Remus interrupted, feeling suddenly bold and incapable of governing his tongue as it spilled out the workings of his heart and mind that had been boiling inside him for years like magma in a seething volcano, since Marlene had entered him again, and given him the courage to speak up, when typically he would have remained silence, unless he was addressed first.

"I want to attend Hogwarts more than anything," he interjected vehemently, completing his dad's sentence, "and I always have, all my life, ever since I was old enough to listen to Mum and Dad's stories about it. It's unfair that I shouldn't be allowed to go, when everyone else is, and I'm just like them most of the time, except when I'm transformed. I have a right to an education, just like everybody else―"

"Remus, hush, and mind your manners," commanded Mr. Lupin, but his son ignored him, to preoccupied with pouring out his thoughts and feelings to actually notice anything his audience might say or do.

"And my parents have a right to see that I am taught at school, just like all the other magical children, because they pay tax money to support Hogwarts, so they deserve a chance to reap the benefits of it just like all the other citizens," he continued, his voice rising ardently, "and if you and your professors are as clever as you like to think you are you would comprehend this, and if you were as interested in justice as everyone claims, you'd let me go, as is my right!"

"Remus!" his father snarled, and his dad's tone finally seemed to get through to the boy, because he fell silent abruptly, and lowered his head, abashed at all the things he had shouted out. He could feel his cheeks burning with fires of humiliation, as Mr. Lupin ordered, "Apologize to Professor Dumbledore at once for your rudeness. If you wanted to convince him to do you a favor, you couldn't have gone about it in a worse fashion, by the way."

"I'm sorry, sir," Remus mumbled, scrutinizing every centimeter of the floor, instead of gazing into the man's face, because he did not want to see the good humored crinkles about his eyes hardened into lines of wrath, and he didn't wish to glimpse the merry blues eyes blazing with ire. Somehow, it would be less horrible to imagine such occurrences, then to actually see them, and by the alpha dog philosophy it was a good decision to lower his eyes anyway, as that indicated that he wasn't being challenging, but submissive. "I didn't mean to be disrespectful."

"Nor have you been," pronounced Professor Dumbledore, and Remus gaped up at him in utter disbelief. He wasn't the only one who stared in shock at the headmaster's words, for his parents had similar expressions of stupefied puzzlement etched upon their features. As if he hadn't noted his three companions' bewilderment, Dumbledore went on lightly, "You have been honest with me, and honesty is never a crime. I am honored that you are so passionate about attending my school, and I can only hope that it lives up to your expectations."

"You're letting me go?" whispered Remus, his eyes widening even more. Now that the moment where all his dreams were coming true was upon him, he couldn't comprehend anything. He felt numb, not elated, and his brain sent messages of denial coursing through him. He couldn't really be going to Hogwarts. He couldn't really be going to a school full of children, where he might be able to become friends with other beings his age, besides Marlene. He couldn't possibly be going to a castle where he would learn all sorts of fascinating facts and spells in September. He wouldn't actually set eyes upon the bewitched ceiling of the Great Hall for himself. He wouldn't really be terrorized in the corridors between classes by the airborne menace, Peeves, the poltergeist. In short, this was all a dream, a midnight fantasy, that his mind had concocted to please him, and when he awoke, he would feel hollow, yet, when he pinched his arm to startle himself out of his slumber, he discovered that he did not awake, which meant that he was sleeping far more soundly than was typical with him, or, more likely, that this was actually happening to him.

"Of course I'm permitting you to attend Hogwarts." Dumbledore nodded, as though there could never have been any doubt that this would be the case. "You received the invitation to go, and it is ill-mannered, after all, to withdraw an invitation once it has been issued. Anyhow, I'm confident that you're being a werewolf can be handled without too much bother for anyone. We'll just have to find a place to hide you, so that you don't run the risk of biting anybody, on the full moon."

"Where will you put me, Professor?" A twinge of delight trickled up and down Remus' spine as he finished the last word, because using the term meant that he was going to be a pupil at Hogwarts, just like everybody else, and nothing could be better than that. Somehow, using the title hammered into his head the fact that he would, indeed, be going to school, and he was sure that, like everybody else, he would have the time of his life there.

"I haven't figured that out yet, but I'm certain that if I put my head together with the rest of the Hogwarts teachers, we can devise a feasible location for you to hide in once a month," Dumbledore replied, as he rose. Addressing Mrs. Lupin, he added, "Thank you very much for the cinnamon buns, and the hot chocolate. They were delicious."

As Mrs. Lupin assured the headmaster that it had been nothing, her husband got up so that he could see their guest to the door. When he and Mr. Lupin were about to exit the living room, Professor Dumbledore informed Remus, "I shall have your Head of House, whomever that may be, explain the plan we have devised for you once you arrive at school."

"Yes, Professor." Remus bobbed his head affirmatively, then struggled to articulate his gratitude to this great, compassionate man who used his power to help not hurt those beneath him, and who had the charity to aid a small boy expecting nothing in return, and stuttered out, "Thanks, sir, for―for letting me go to your school, even though, I'm―what I am. I swear that you'll never regret it. I promise that I'll study hard, and never break the rules, or anything."

"I shall never regret being fair, and defending the rights of my fellow human beings against people who are ignorant and prejudiced," declared Dumbledore. His eyes twinkling, he remarked, "By the way, Remus, if you intend to keep the fact that you are a werewolf secret, you might want to break the rules occasionally, or else your peers will definitely know that something is wrong with you."

Before Remus could answer such a stunning announcement, Dumbledore had departed the room entirely, and had been escorted out of the house by Mr. Lupin, leaving Remus with what he would learn later was the classic post-Dumbledore feeling: incredibly idiotic, but impossibly blissful.


	10. Chapter 10

Off to School

It was nine o'clock in the evening on August 31st, the night before Remus would catch the Hogwarts Express at Platform 9 ¾, and he could not have been more nervous than he was at the moment. A million questions to which he had no answers swarmed about like pesky gnats inside his poor, befuddled mind. What if he did not make any new friends, after all? What if he became the laughingstock of the year? What if he was the dumbest student ever to enter the castle? What if none of his professors liked him? What would happen if he failed all his classes? What would his parents say if that happened? Surely nothing positive, of that he could be certain. Would he be expelled if he failed everything? Would he have to leave the school after he had worked so hard to be permitted to attend? Oh, he hoped not, because, in his opinion, the only thing that would be more horrible than attending Hogwarts would be not going.

Mainly to distract himself from such concerns, he checked his trunk to ensure that he had packed everything from his robes to the spellbooks he would require for his first-year. When he ascertained that all the necessary equipment was, indeed, stowed in his luggage, he withdrew his _Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ by Emeric Switch from his baggage, and began to re-read the section dealing with rudimentary Switching Spells.

He chose to review the material he had read about Transfiguration, because that subject, apart from Potions, had been the most difficult for him to comprehend, and he figured that he could benefit from all the extra studying he could get, since he couldn't be positive that he wouldn't have to contend with a pop quiz in either of these courses on his first day at Hogwarts, and he didn't want his first grade to be a failing mark.

However, he had barely read a page on performing simple Switching Spells, when he was interrupted in this endeavor by a sharp rap on his bedroom door. Upon Remus' shouted "Come in!", Mr. Lupin swung open the door, strode into the room, and seated himself on the bed beside his son.

"I see you're all packed up, then," noted Mr. Lupin, jerking his head at Remus' luggage.

"Yeah," Remus confirmed.

"You're reading your Transfiguration textbook, I gather."

"I'm re-reading it, actually, Dad," he corrected. "I'm going over basic Switching Spells again, because they perplex me, and I definitely don't think I understood them the first time around."

"They aren't so easy, even when they're classified as 'simple' ones," remarked his dad, smiling slightly. "I confess that I found most topics covered in Transfiguration bewildering. All in all, it is a befuddling and challenging subject, although it is, of course, a very crucial and necessary one."

"That's why I'm reviewing it," Remus agreed.

For a moment, silence filled the room, and then Mr. Lupin announced in a rather telegraphic fashion, "Son, before you head off to school for the first time, I want to talk to you about something―something important."

In Remus' experience, whenever his father declared that he wanted to talk to him, it was never an auspicious omen. He loved his dad, and he didn't mind engaging in normal conversation with the man, but Mr. Lupin had a tendency to employ the phrases "I want to talk to you", or "I have to speak with you" to indicate that he was about to lecture and punish his son. Yet, when Remus reflected upon his recent conduct, he did not stumble across anything that he had done that had been terribly naughty, which would justify the extra importance ascribed to what they were about to discuss.

"I didn't do anything bad, Dad, I swear," he blurted out, spilling out exactly what was on his mind.

"Guilty conscience, huh?" smirked his father. When Remus opened his mouth to protest this pronouncement, he added, "Well, there's nothing so unusual about that, after all, because a clear conscience in a boy, or in most beings, for that matter, is the sure sign of a deficient memory. Anyway, you're not in trouble, if that's what you're worried about."

"Then, what do you want to discuss with me?" Remus' forehead furrowed in bemusement.

There was such a protracted pause following this inquiry that he contemplated whether he ought to repeat his question, before Mr. Lupin sighed, "I think that it's time you learned the truth of the circumstances surrounding your becoming a werewolf."

"I was attacked and bitten by a transformed werewolf who hadn't been locked up, and who was nearby, that's all I need to know," answered Remus, reciting what he thought of as the accurate account of his attack.

"That's all you'd need to know if it were the truth, which it, unfortunately, is not." Mr. Lupin shook his head, staring off into space with a miserable expression in his coffee colored eyes. "The truth is that your being bitten wasn't an accident, but rather a deliberate attempt to hurt you― and me, through your suffering. I'd much rather believe that it was just some poor soul, like you, who had lost all self-discipline at the full moon, but it wasn't, and I reckon that you should know the truth before you head off to Hogwarts, and your mum agrees with me."

"What do you mean?" his offspring demanded, more confused than ever by his dad's words.

"Well, when you were about six-years-old, your uncle Brendan and I finally managed to perfect a potion that we had been laboring on for many years. It is a potent substance that one drop of which will cause even a mighty wizard like You-Know-Who to pour out their most intimate secrets upon interrogation, because it compels whoever consumes it to tell the truth, which is why we called it Veritaseruum. We thought that it would be a boon for people in the courts and in the law enforcement, but the Death Eaters had a different perspective. In their opinion, our invention would be handy for wrangling information out of people if a Legilimens― someone who can penetrate the minds of others, unless they can block them via Occlumency― wasn't there to do so. Therefore, they wished to get their filthy claws upon the potion, and the recipe. They approached your uncle first, because he was the senior of us, but he wouldn't budge― you were present when Brendan first informed me that the Death Eaters were after the potion, and that he had refused to give into their demands."

Suddenly, Remus did remember. He recollected concealing himself behind a lounge chair, as his dad conversed with Uncle Brendan…he recalled how his father's face had been tense as he asked if Remus had understood what the two men had been discussing. Obviously, Mr. Lupin had not wished for his son to comprehend what had been going on, and now that he did, Remus could only long to return to his blissful state of ignorance, because now everything was falling into place in the jigsaw puzzle, and he wasn't happy about the shape the final product was taking on.

"They― they murdered him when he did not surrender to them." Mr. Lupin's voice cracked, and tears stung his child's eyes. "By killing him, they hoped to get to me, the only other person that knew how to create Veritaserum, but they failed dismally in their objective, because I was never going to give into those who had murdered my brother, especially not without a fight, as you found out when you eavesdropped on that conversation, as well."

Gulping, Remus recalled his dad's wrath at his presence in the living room, and the Death Eater's threat about Fenrir Grayback, or someone similar, but what did that have to do with his becoming a werewolf, exactly?

"You remember, I take it, how cross I was with you," observed Mr. Lupin, his mouth twisting. "What you might not know is that I was petrified, because they had threatened me with letting Fenrir Grayback, a savage werewolf who lives apart from humans, because he despises them so much, and who takes a particular, sadistic delight in biting children, so that he will have fresh recruits for his counterculture, loose upon you during the next full moon, which they did, and you were bitten. So, you see, my masking my fear with rage, and all the restrictions we put upon your movements didn't do you a whit of good, in the end."

"Dad," Remus sputtered, tears pooling in his chestnut eyes, but he didn't know how to continue, and lapsed into an uncomfortable quiet. It pained him to hear the cold calculation that had gone into his attack by Grayback, and it hurt even more to witness his father's anguish, because it was apparent that Mr. Lupin would have been tortured or killed to save his child from being bitten by Grayback. Finally, he choked out, "You didn't give them the recipe, did you?"

"No," replied Mr. Lupin grimly, "because I wasn't about to be intimidated by such cowardly tactics. Besides, there was no profit to my surrendering to them, once you had become a werewolf, since they no longer possessed any true leverage against me, something they should have foreseen. After all, they had done the worst they could to you, and my wife was safe here with the protective charms we've placed around the house, and, as I had made abundantly plain to them, I did not care if they tortured and murdered me, as long as my secret remained unknown to them. Of course, since they were unrefined brutes, as too much inbreeding tends to create unattractive, dimwitted, uncivilized, and utterly insane beings, this never occurred to them, which is why they had to turn their attention to the American Ministry, where I sent the recipe, although I told them I had shipped it to Canada. I only hope that it is still safe there, although I can't be sure that it is. I pray that You-Know-Who recognizes that it is folly to awaken a sleeping giant, like the United States, in exchange for a potion that essentially mimics the effects of Legilimency."

Quiet ensued for several moment after this harrowing tale was told, and then Remus, whose heart was pounding like a drum, and whose breathing was five times rapider than his usual rate, asked, "Dad, why are you telling me all this?"

"I want you to understand the truth before you leave for school," his father explained, clasping Remus' shoulders tightly to guarantee that he had the full attention of the adolescent whom he addressed. "You see, you're about to go to Hogwarts, where you'll become acquainted with the offspring of the Death Eaters, the children of those who forced Aunt Mildred and Chet and countless others into exile, and who murdered Uncle Brendan and hundreds of other wizards, witches, and Muggles alike, and who arranged for you and other unfortunate little boys and girls whose parents resisted You-Know-Who to be bitten by Grayback, and who felt no shame or remorse, but rather a pride and a pleasure, for these crimes they've committed. I want you to comprehend that you aren't a true monster, boy. The real beasts are those who did this to you, and they're monsters all the time, not just at the full moon, and they don't even have the excuse of not being aware of what they were doing, because they knew exactly what they were doing, and that's what makes their actions all the more atrocious."

Before Remus could reply to this assertion, his dad had leaned forward, and kissed his forehead, commanding, "Go to bed soon. You've a long day ahead of you tomorrow, remember."

"Dad, do you really expect me to fall asleep after what you've told me?" Remus eyed his parent dubiously.

"No, I guess not," conceded Mr. Lupin, "but, still, don't stay up too late. Just do enough reading to put the horror of what I said out of your mind, and then turn out the lights, and get some shut-eye."

When Remus nodded his head in compliance, his father departed, and he resumed his study of Switching Spells with renewed vigor, because he was burning to avenge himself and his family upon Fenrir Grayback, and all the other Death Eaters, because they had transformed him into a werewolf, murdered his uncle, and forced his aunt, and his cousin to flee to America, and they had perpetrated the same outrages upon hundreds of other people, in addition to this.

Well, Remus Lupin wasn't going to stand for such a callous injustice. He was going to make a difference, and he would force them to pay for their crimes, but to accomplish that he would have to master more magic than they had, which meant that he would have to learn all about tricky topics like Switching Spells. As he read the chapter on Switching Spells, he envisioned Swithcing Grayback's fangs with chocolate bars…Now, that would be an improvement, and his teeth would never injure anybody else again, unless somebody yanked them out, and gobbled them up, and ended up gaining a ton of weight from eating them up. Still, being obese was preferable to being a werewolf, so whatever pig that happened to would have no grounds on which to complain, anyway.

The next morning, Remus and his parents traveled to King's Cross train station in London to drop him off at Platform 9 ¾. He had just finished hugging and kissing his parents, and was midway through securing his luggage on the train with his dad's assistance, when Marlene darted up to him, calling his name, and nimbly navigating through the hordes of beings, owls, cats, and trunks congesting the platform.

"Hello," he greeted her, whirling about to face her, as she charged up to him.

"I'm so glad that you're able to attend Hogwarts with me," she beamed, as her harried parents could be seen twisting their way through the clogged platform.

"You've only told me so a million times." Despite his acerbic words, Remus grinned at her, because her jubilation was more contagious than a cold germ.

"Well, I'll make it a million and once times, then, but I don't care," she chuckled, throwing back her head in amusement, as her eyes sparkled at him, "since some things you just never tire of repeating, and that's one of them!"

Remus was denied an opening to respond to this comment, due to the arrival of the puffing Mr. and Mrs. Hayes, who had been pursuing their daughter, whom they were seeing off to school.

"Marlene Elizabeth Hayes," Marlene's mother reproached her with her remaining breath upon her arrival with her husband, as Mr. Lupin finished putting his offspring's trunk upon the train, "you're not to run off on your father and me like that, young lady!"

"Oh, Mum." Marlene rolled her eyes in exasperation with the woman's concern. "I'll be away from home and your watchful eye in a couple of minutes, so you might as well learn to relax now, so that you don't blow a major artery in fear of what I'm doing without you to protect me while I'm at school."

Without waiting for her mum to retort, Marlene focused on her best friend again. "Remus, if you weren't going to Hogwarts, I'm not sure I could go, either."

"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed, although he could feel his cheeks flaming at her remark. "You'd go, and you'd make new buddies, and you'd forget about me."

"I could never forget about you," she insisted, her tone and eyes earnest, "and I'd be afraid to go without you, since I'd be scared that nobody would like me, but since you're coming, too, I can be confident, because I know, whatever happens, we'll still be friends forever. We'll be able to play together, and study together, even if we're put in different Houses."

At her words, the treacherous and venomous snake of uncertainty wound through her companion, because he abruptly thought that they would probably be Sorted into different Houses, which meant that some degree of separation would be forced upon them, even though they did not desire it in the slightest. After all, his somber, shy, reflective, and bookish nature made him an apt choice for Ravenclaw, like his father before him had been, while Marlene's spunky, outgoing, passionate, and impetuous personality revealed her to be more of a Gryffindor at heart, just like her dad had been.

Luckily, the blaring horn shattered his musings, and stimulated him into action. As the horn blast compelled him to, Remus hugged and kissed his mother and father once again, as Marlene embraced her parents. Then, they both bounded onto the train as one unit, and waved good-bye to their families until the train rounded a bend, and they could no longer see the specks of the four adults on the platform, although they knew that the adults must have Disapparated for their homes.

"I suppose we'd best search for some seats," decided Marlene in a rather matter-of-fact fashion once both sets of parents had vanished.

"You're right," Remus agreed, and the pair of them set off down the corridor, looking for a compartment with room for them to settle themselves comfortably. Finally, in the third car they tried, they uncovered a vacant compartment, and they hurried into it, and plopped onto the seats to claim them before someone could steal them.

"What do you want to do?" Marlene inquired, once they were settled down in their own compartment. "Mum and Dad say that this ride lasts until after the sun sets, so we'll have to keep ourselves occupied for awhile."

"I'd like to re-read my copies of _Magical Drafts and Potions_ by Arsenius Jigger, and _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ by Emeric Switch," he educated her.

"You want to study?" Disgusted, she wrinkled her nose at him. "We're not at school yet, in case it has slipped your notice, genius."

"We might not be at Hogwarts, yet, but tomorrow we shall be there, and what's more, we'll have classes," he reasoned patiently. "It is possible that one of those subjects will be Potions or Transfiguration, and it is possible that I will have to take a pop quiz in one or both of those courses. I have no desire to fail such a quiz, as that would provide the instructor with an unfavorable first impression of me, so I must study, because I do not comprehend Potions or Transfiguration nearly as much as I do the rest of the courses, or so I believe from the texts I've read over the summer."

"Whatever," she snorted, obviously bored by his logic. "Anyhow, you can review later on, since we'll have plenty of time to squander on this cursed train, but for now we'll trade Chocolate Frog cards."

Sighing, Remus capitulated, and pulled out his box of Chocolate Frog cards, as she did the same thing. Once they had arrayed their cards between them, and had scrutinized each other's cards for a brief time, Remus commented, "You have four Rowena Ravenclaws."

"Yes, and you've none," Marlene remarked, a keen glint in her eyes. "Do you want one?"

"Perhaps." Remus shrugged. "I might be willing to trade one of your Ravenclaws for one of my Gryffindors."

"That's robbery. I'll trade you one of my Ravenclaws for one of your Gryffindors, and one of your Hufflepuffs."

Remus hesitated, and then assented, "All right."

With that, he shoved one of his five Godric Gryffindor cards, and one of his three Helga Hufflepuff cards at her, as she pushed one of her four Rowena Ravenclaws at him, and the deal was sealed. Ten minutes later, Remus had traded two Merlins for a Circe, and a Cliodina for a Cassandra of Troy, and then, when their transactions were complete, had started reading an antidote for doxy bites in his copy of _Magical Drafts and Potions_, when he was distracted in the middle of memorizing the ingredients list by the door of their compartment banging open.

Miffed at the disruption, Remus glared over the top of his tome at the intruders, who happened to be a girl of about elven with shoulder-length red hair that was even more vibrant than Marlene's, and vivacious forest-colored eyes, and a scrawny boy with greasy dark hair, and hard, blank beetle black eyes, who was already decked out in his Hogwarts robes.

"Hi." The lass smiled at him and Marlene, although her comrade just gazed out of the window, not glancing at either of the occupants of the compartment. Pointing at the empty seats across from Remus and Marlene, the girl asked, "Are those taken?"

"No," Marlene told her. "They're empty. Feel free to take them, if you wish."

While the two newcomers seated themselves, and the redhead introduced herself as Lily Evans, and her companion as Severus Snape, Remus returned to his Potions reading.

"I'm Marlene Hayes," Marlene informed Lily. Spotting that her best mate was buried once more in his book, she snorted in exasperation, and added, "That's Remus Lupin, by the way."

"He seems to be quite the conversationalist, just like Sev is," joked Lily, and Marlene giggled.

"I talk to those who are worthy of my attention, Lily," Severus Snape sneered. "They're just aren't that many beings out there who I believe are worth my bother." Then, to Remus' shock, he deigned to address him, "Is that a Potions book you're reading?"

Remus offered him a short nod, annoyed because the inquiry could easily be answered by glancing at the spine of the tome. Honestly, for someone who was so enamored of his own intellect, the other teenager was astoundingly stupid.

"What potion are you reading about, then?" persisted Snape.

"An antidote for doxy bites," answered Remus, aggravated that this query actually required a verbal response. Lord, couldn't this boy take the hint that Remus did not wish to converse with him at the moment, and close his trap?

"Oh, that's the one where you should use an ounce of powdered bicorn horn, and an ounce of powdered unicorn horn, and mix all the ingredients together four times in a clockwise, and then three times in a counterclockwise, direction," drawled Snape.

"No, actually, you use two ounces of powdered bicorn horn, and stir the potion seven times in a clockwise direction," Remus corrected him, assuming that the lad had been quizzing himself on data he had studied, and would appreciate the modification so that he could avoid making a similar error on an exam. "There's no need for unicorn horn, or counterclockwise stirring."

"That's what Arensius Jigger claims," Snape leered.

"If teachers have been employing this book ever since it was published in 1920, I'm sure Mr. Jigger has a vague notion of what he's writing about," Remus responded tersely, as he tried to read step six of the directions on how to concoct doxy bite antidote, despite the sneering of this distracting peer. "I'm equally certain that his recipe works."

"Of course Jigger's potion works, just not as well as mine does." Snape rolled his eyes as though Remus were thicker than a garden post it he did not recognize this. Catching sight of Remus' skeptical expression, he commented derisively, "I'll bet you'll be in Ravenclaw, because you think you're so clever merely because you can memorize all the rules, although you haven't the brains to spot that the rules are limiting you."

"Excuse me." Remus' spine stiffened in indignation. "My dad was a Ravenclaw, and he is in research, which means that he pushes the rules of established science all the time. He's taught me, though, that one should only break the rules if one is doing so because of superior knowledge, not ignorance. One can only attain such knowledge if one initially adheres to the rules, you must realize."

Severus opened his mouth to snap back, but Lily intervened at this juncture. "For heaven's sake, Severus, stop being pricklier than a rosebush," she bossed, and the addressed clamped his mouth shut immediately, and gazed at her with a lustful admiration, instead. "Remember, there aren't an infinite number of compartments that we can seat ourselves in just because you manage to get into a spat with the occupants of every compartment."

After that, Remus continued to study from his Potions and later his Transfiguration textbooks, Snape stared out the window at the flickering countryside, and Marlene taught Lily, who seemed to be a Muggleborn, how to play Wizarding chess. When the golden sun had descended entirely, Remus reluctantly tucked away his textbooks, and donned his school uniform, along with Marlene and Lily.

They had barely finished changing into their robes, when the train pulled up at the station, and the four adolescents hastened out of their compartment, joining the throng in the corridor, and pushed their way onto a bustling platform, which was littered with chattering pupils shoving their way over toward the opposite end of it.

Remus, Marlene, Lily, and Snape had been about to follow the masses when a gruff voice hollered, "First-years, over here!"

Glancing in the direction from whence the shout had originated, Remus saw that the speaker had been a bearded giant, who was holding a lantern at least five feet over the heads of the tallest seventh-years. Obediently, he crossed over to line up behind the giant, with the two girls and Snape on his heels.

When all the first-years had queued up behind him, the giant led them all down a steep, narrow path, on which Remus, Lily, and Snape all slipped on multiple times, and on which even the typically light-footed Marlene stumbled a few times. Finally, after what seemed like hours of walking, but probably amounted only to ten or fifteen minutes of time, the giant roared over his shoulder, "Yeh'll get yer first sight of Hogwarts in a sec! It's just around this bend here!"

His words had barely reached Remus, when then "Oohs" and the "Aahs" of those in the front broke upon his ears. He learned what had awed them so when the trail opened suddenly, and he realized that they were all standing upon the shore of a massive lake that mirrored the night sky above down to the last constellation. However, it wasn't the beautiful lake that captivated them― it was the castle that was perched upon the crest of the mountain on the far side of the body of water. With its turrets and towers with their glittering glass windows, Hogwarts appeared to have emerged directly from a medieval tale of chivalry, with bold knights and fair damsels.

Remus' mind was jolted from his admiration of the school's architecture by the giant pointing at a fleet of rowboats resting in the sand by their feet, and ordering everyone to climb into one, but not to get into a boat if it already had four children inside it. Remus and Marlene clambered onto the first bench in a rowboat, and Lily and Snape climbed onto the second bench of their boat.

Upon the command of the giant, who had a whole vessel to himself due to his gigantic size, the boats glided across the lake, which was smoother than glass. A curious lad in the rowboat ahead of them leaned over to examine the water beneath them more closely, and ended up toppling into the water. Remus gasped in horror at this sight, fearing for the lad's safety, but Snape deemed it hilarious, for he sniggered in the bench in back.

"It's not funny, Sev," Lily rebuked him, her manner tart. "He could drown, you know."

"If he was dumb enough to fall out of his boat, he deserves it," snickered Severus, as the giant, to Remus' relief, pulled the boy out of the lake, dumped him into his own rowboat, and wrapped his overcoat about the lad's damp body.

"Pity," Snape sighed when he registered this. "I was hoping he'd drown, and do evolution a major favor by helping to weed idiocy out of our gene pool."

Perhaps, Lily would have chided him again, Remus thought, but she lost the breath necessary to do so when the rowboats neared the cliff, and bore them all through an opening curtained in ivy, that led them under the castle until they docked at an underground harbor, where they all hopped out of their boats, and followed the giant up a moss-covered stone stairwell onto the school grounds.

Barely half an hour later, Remus was standing with the herd of other first-years, gawking like a stunned deer at the Great Hall, which was loaded with students and ghosts, who were assembled at four long tables that spanned the chamber vertically, and teachers, who were arrayed at a staff table that crossed the room horizontally. He thought that the Great Hall was even more incredible than his dad had described it as.

It felt wonderful to be here in the dining hall of the school he had always wished to attend, although he did pray that everybody would cease staring at him, because all the those sets of eyes scrutinizing him weren't exactly welcoming or reassuring. Of course, he knew that all the other first-years were being studied as carefully as he was, but that was small comfort to him.

He was too nervous to listen while the tattered hat the stern-faced witch who had introduced herself as Professor McGonagall, sang about how it was the agent by which pupils were Sorted into their appropriate Houses from its location on the three-legged stool Professor McGonagall had carried in.

When the Sorting Hat had completed its chant, Professor McGonagall commenced calling first-years forward to try on the Hat, and sit upon the stool to be assigned to the correct House for them. Remus let his attention wander to consider what he would do if he and Marlene were placed in separate Houses until Professor McGonagall hollered out the name of someone, Lily Evans, that he was familiar with from the train and rowboat ride, and he elected to break of his contemplations long enough to watch her Sorting.

He saw her walk slowly and steadily up to the stool, and drop the Hat the deputy headmistress offered her over her head, so that it covered all of her flaming hair, and obscured her green eyes. A few seconds passed, and then the Hat declared her a Gryffindor. Remus watched her smile slightly at her friend, Snape, who looked crushed at the Hat's decision, and seat herself at the Gryffindor table, before focusing once again on the problem of remaining best mates with Marlene even if they were separated by the blasted Hat.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he jumped at least a foot in the air, stubbing the toe of the unlucky blonde girl behind him doubtlessly during his landing, when Professor McGonagall shouted, "Hayes, Marlene!"

Heaving an enormous breath, as if she were about to dive into the Arctic Ocean naked, Marlene stepped forward, plopped onto the stool, and slipped the Hat over her head. For about thirty seconds, in which he prayed fervently that she would be made a Ravenclaw, as he suspected he would be, there was silence, and then she was pronounced a Gryffindor.

Beaming at Remus, because she was obviously proud of following in her dad's footsteps, even if that meant that she and he ended up in different Houses, Marlene hastened over to join the applauding Gryffindors, sliding onto the bench beside Lily, who greeted her with a warm grin.

Remus was so busy despairing of the fact that he and his best friend would be in different Houses that he almost missed his name when Professor McGonagall called, "Lupin, Remus!"

Galvanized by her strident voice, and his own name, he lurched forward, and jammed the Hat awkwardly upon his head. To his alarm, instead of screaming out his House, which he assumed would be Ravenclaw, to the entire Hall, the Hat whispered in his ear, "Ah, you are a very clever one, yes, but I don't see that you want to go to Ravenclaw, although with a quick mind like yours, you'd be very happy there in no time at all, I imagine. No, though, you want to go to Gryffindor."

_I want to be put in Gryffindor?_ Remus echoed, astonished that this article of clothing had detected a desire he hadn't acknowledged or articulated. _Why wouldn't I want to be placed in Ravenclaw? It's a fine House, and Dad was in it._

"You know the answer to that question," the Hat educated him with an almost human slyness. "Well, I suppose I should honor your request, after all, since you do have extensive reserves of courage you don't even appreciate that you possess, and I foresee that you'll have to make use of them in your future, so you may as well have valiant comrades beside you when you have to draw on such stores, and you'll only find such brave souls in GRYFFINDOR."

It roared out its final judgment to the whole Great Hall, and, eager to exit the limelight as soon as humanly possible, Remus tugged the Sorting Hat off his head, handed it to Professor McGonagall, and rushed over to slide into the vacant seat across from Marlene. Delighted that they would be together, they smiled at each other, as the Sorting resumed.

As the ceremony went on, Remus was not surprised to discover that the greasy-haired, sneering Snape was pronounced a Slytherin, and the boy, Donald Stebbins, who had toppled off the boat into the lake was placed in Hufflepuff.


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note: Sorry it took me awhile to update, but I was on vacation, and had no Internet access, so you'll have to put up with that unless you want to buy me a laptop, and pay for the wireless Internet, because my parents won't pay for that stuff until I go to college, so there you are. I'll get back to anyone who reviewed during that time as soon as I can. I promise, and like George Washington, I don't lie. (I'm even better, because I don't have gray hair, or a wig.)

Lessons

The next morning, when the rising sun awakened him and the four other boys inhabiting his dormitory, Remus initially felt disbelief wash over him. He couldn't really be attending Hogwarts, and he certainly could not have just arisen in a chamber full of four other first-year Gryffindors. Obviously, this must be a wistful dream. Yet, when he stretched out to touch the scarlet hangings around his four-poster, they seemed to be tangible enough, and he relaxed as elation flooded him, for he was truly at the school he had always aspired to attend, and today was his first day of lessons. In other words, it was his first opportunity to prove himself in a scholastic environment, and was his chance to demonstrate to Professor Dumbledore that he had not erred when he had permitted Remus to go to Hogwarts, like every other eleven-year-old witch and wizard in England.

Since he had no intention of allowing this invaluable opportunity to slip right through his hands, Remus quickly rolled out of bed, and threw on his school uniform. By the time he was dressed in his black robes, and was departing the dorm, the others in the room were only groggily stumbling like a batch of drunkards out of their respective beds, cursing the fact that they had to arise so early.

Brimful of excitement at the prospect of proving himself, and alert, unlike his peers, Remus raced down the spiral stone staircase until he reached the common room, where he discovered that Marlene was waiting impatiently for him to come down from his room, quivering with anticipation. Clearly, she was even more eager to begin their first real day at Hogwarts than he was, and that was saying something.

"You're here at last, thank heavens! I was afraid that my hair would become whiter than Dumbledore's, and my feet would cement themselves to the ground, because it took you so long to show up," observed Marlene, clutching his elbow, and dragging him out of the portrait of the Fat Lady that functioned as the portal into and out of the Gryffindor Tower. "Hurry up. Let's go downstairs to breakfast quickly, or else all the appetizing food will have disappeared, and we'll be stuck with nasty gunk like cold scrambled eggs, and I detest cold scrambled eggs."

However, despite their early departure, they did not arrive in the Great Hall for breakfast as soon as she had hoped, for the castle revealed itself to be an absolute rat warren of passageways, and stairways, some of which, it transpired, had trick steps a body could topple through if one didn't keep a sharp eye on where one rested one's foot next, and some of which moved about at whim, as the two first-years realized to their horror, when one elected to relocated itself while they were descending it, meaning they were obliged to dash over to the nearest banister, which they were forced to cling to, ashen-faced and trembling, until the stairwell realigned itself to its satisfaction, and they could hasten off it before it decided to move on them again.

They had hardly recovered from the shock of the moving-staircase ordeal when Peeves the poltergeist accosted them in the following corridor. Spotting their confused expressions that indicated they were lost in these new surroundings, and exploiting their apparent vulnerability, Peeves yanked the rug they were walking across out from under their feet abruptly.

Unprepared for this surprise attack, both teenagers tripped and crumbled smack onto the hard, unyielding stone floor, Marlene letting out a stream of expletives as she did so that would have made a bawdy pub comedian proud.

"Oh, how clumsy the stupid Ickle Firsties are," cackled Peeves, whizzing over their heads, as they struggled to shove themselves to their feet, a malicious beam lighting his features, and his hands rubbing together as he contemplated his next bit of mischievous torture. "If they keep falling like that, they might damage their skulls, and Peevesie can't let that happen to naïve Ickle Firsties, oh no, even if there is nothing to harm in their hollow heads. No, Peevesie will provide careless Ickle Firsties with helmets. This ought to do."

Sniggering, Peeves snatched a wastepaper basket from a nearby classroom, and dumped it upon Remus' head, before he could do anything to defend himself. Now, he noted irritably, his odds of finding the Great Hal were about nil, since he couldn't see anything, except the interior of the benighted trash bin imprisoning him. In fact, as far as he was concerned, the only way he could hope to arrive there would be if he accidentally wandered into it with this blasted garbage can obscuring his vision. Talk about blind luck, he grumbled inwardly, shaking his head, and causing the trash can to rattle as a result of this motion.

"Take that wastepaper basket off my friend's head this second, or I'll take off your head," Remus heard Marlene snarl, and he could envision her eyes seething as she launched herself at the aggravating poltergeist.

"Ooh, Firehead has more than just her hair in the flames today." Remus could easily discern Peeves' crooning through the trash bin surrounding his head, and surmised that the poltergeist had managed to dodge his comrade's assault.

Marlene's enraged shout that followed barely a millisecond later implied that Peeves had succeeded in dropping another garbage can, undoubtedly stolen from another classroom, upon her head. As Peeves cackled in satisfaction, the pair of eleven-year-olds called out for assistance, but the wastepaper baskets about their heads frustrated their attempts at summoning aid, because they reflected all their screams back into their own ears, which did no good.

Just when Remus was starting to fear that he would become either deaf or mute, a squeaky voice crashed over them from the far end of the hallway. "Peeves," it squealed, "leave those students alone this instant, or I shall fetch the Headmaster, and the Bloody Baron." From the fading and the eventual disappearance of Peeves' evil cackles, Remus assumed the speaker's threat had been effective in banishing the vexing poltergeist.

Once the absence of Peeves' voice indicated his departure, Remus was almost blinded when his wastepaper basket was removed from his head, and light suddenly deluged his eyes. Squinting, he righted himself, because he had fallen when the trash bin had been tossed unceremoniously upon him, and realized that their savior was a short, effeminate wizard who only came up to about Remus' shoulder, and who apparently had elf blood flowing in his veins.

"Thank you for rescuing us, sir," he panted. He employed the honorific, because he was convinced that, despite his diminutive stature, the man must be a professor, not a fellow student, even a seventh-year. After all, he had plainly utilized magic to remove the trash cans from his and Marlene's heads, and he was using magic right now to send the garbage cans back into their appropriate classrooms, and Hogwarts students were not permitted to use magic in the halls. Besides, as much as it pained Remus to admit it, he doubted that any pupil would have intervened to save him and Marlene. The fact was, most teenagers would have laughed at the prank that Peeves had pulled on him and Marlene, or else would have hurried past, not wanting to attract Peeves' attention, because they were scared of being the targets of bullying themselves. Perhaps, a kindlier student would rush off to fetch a professor to help, but they wouldn't have involved themselves in any other fashion.

"Yeah, thanks," mumbled Marlene, as she rose. Scowling in the direction that Peeves seemed to have flown off in, she asked, "Is he always so charming to be around, or was that just a warm welcome for our benefit, Professor?"

"I'm afraid that he is usually that pleasant, but that he takes an especial delight in terrorizing those who are new to this castle," replied their savior, "but there is no need to thank me, because it is my job as a teacher to assist my charges, and to ensure that none of my students are bullied, especially in my sight. Now, where were you two headed?"

"The Great Hall, Professor," Remus and Marlene answered simultaneously.

"Well, make two more rights, then a left, and then go down the first set of stairs you come across. Go down six levels, and you'll be there," the tiny man informed them, and then he set off down the corridor.

Thanks to his instructions, Remus and Marlene were able to find the Great Hall without encountering any further troubles. However, by that time, they had only enough time to grab a slice of toast and an orange each, before they had to rush out of the Hall in search of the Potions classroom, which was in the dungeons, where they would have first period double Potions with the Slytherins.

After taking nine wrong turns, they finally arrived in the correct classroom, and seated themselves next to each other, at a lab table meant to accommodate four. Feeling safe with devils they knew, rather than ones they were unfamiliar with, they sat down across from Lily and Snape, and stared into the muddy depths of a steaming cauldron in front of them. Unless Remus was very much mistaken, based on its rheumy hue, and the gray smoke it was emitting, the potion inside was a Babbling Beverage.

Remus hardly had the time necessary to reach this conclusion when a potbellied wizard burst into the dungeons with a broad smile etched upon his face. He entered, shut the door behind him, and strode to the front of the class, where he pivoted to regard them all with his gooseberry eyes.

"Hello, boys, and girls," he greeted them once he had turned. "My name is Professor Slughorn, and I will be your Potions master, and I am not adverse to the idea of being your advisor throughout the course of your years here, should you wish to cultivate my acquaintance outside of the classroom, and, I assure you, I am not a kill-joy or a party pooper, even if I am old enough not to want to tell you my age."

Here he chortled at his own jest, and did not seem miffed that nobody chuckled along with him, although a few people offered tentative grins, as though they weren't really amused, but didn't desire to be on his bad side yet.

"Now, we'll start out today's lesson by taking a look at some basic potions that you ought to be able to not only recognize, but concoct by the end of our year together," Professor Slughorn continued, pacing over to the table where Remus, Marlene, Lily, and Snape were seated. Pausing, he snatched up a wooden ladle, scooped up a bit of the Babbling Beverage boiling before the four of them, held it aloft so that the entire class could see it, and then poured it back into the cauldron. After he had shown everyone the contents of the cauldron, Professor Slughorn demanded, "Which of you can identify this potion for me?"

Remus' hand shot into the air, with Snape's only a fraction of a second behind his, but still, Remus reasoned with an inner smirk, behind his, which showed Mr. Potions Genius that other people were just as good, if not better, than he was.

"Yes?" Professor Slughorn nodded at him.

Remus swallowed down the nervousness that brewed inside him when everybody's, including his teacher's, eye fixated upon him, when he glimpsed Marlene's encouraging smile, and answered quietly, "It is a Babbling Beverage, Professor, which prompts the drinker to talk nonsense until the effects wear off in about an hour, hence its name."

"Exactly right," announced Professor Slughorn, before he stepped over to the next table, and held up a foamy pearly white potion for the class to examine. "Who can tell me what this one is?"

Again, Remus' palm whipped through the air, narrowly defeating Snape's, which had also pierced the air after Professor Slughorn placed this inquiry.

"Yes?" Professor Slughorn, looking somewhat taken aback, pointed at Remus again.

"It's a Calming Draught, sir," he told the man.

"Quite right," agreed a beaming Professor Slughorn, as he approached a third table, and once more displayed a potion, this one a silvery syrup. "Which one of you can tell me what this potion is?"

Again, Remus' hand was first to soar into the air, earning him a bitter glower from Snape. However, he didn't care one whit about the other boy's displeasure, because he was so relieved that Potions so far was turning out to be far less complicated than he had feared yesterday, and he responded in a voice that was a tad louder than it had been the previous two times he had spoken up, "It's a Hair-Raising potion, and rat's tails are responsible for the silver color."

"Excellent, excellent," approved Professor Slughorn, who seemed impressed by Remus' banks of knowledge, something that made ripples of pleasure squirm up and down the lad's spine. "May I ask your name, my boy?"

"Remus Lupin, Professor." Flushing, Remus stared at the floor, and twisted his foot around, mainly so that he could have something besides the man to glance at.

"Lupin?" Professor Slughorn demanded with even more interest than before. "Are you perhaps related to Robert Lupin, or the late Brendan Lupin, the two brothers about whom the most remarkable rumors have been circulating among those of us who are potioneers?"

"Robert Lupin is my father, sir," mumbled Remus, wondering if the rumors involved Veritaserum, and praying that if that was what was on his instructor's mind that he would not make any further mention of it, because somehow he didn't think that his dad wanted the potion he had invented bandied about by everybody, because the Death Eaters desired to attain it.

Fortunately, Professor Slughorn merely declared, "Well, Remus, my dear boy, take fifteen points for Gryffindor, and please feel free to stop by my office whenever you wish. I have some wonderful books that you might not be able to find in the library that you might be interested in reading, you know, so you really should consider it."

"I will, thank you." Remus' voice was barely above a whisper, as he gazed down at the table he shared with a resentful Snape, and Marlene and Lily. Despite his words, he wasn't positive that he would take the man up on his generous offer. Sure, it would be great to have access to such material, but there was something peculiar about the Potions master. After all, there was something disconcerting about all the attention and praise he had showered upon Remus just because he had memorized a handful of facts from an assigned textbook.

Now, Professor Slughorn finally focused on the entire class once again, as he announced, "Boys and girls, please take out your scales and the rest of your equipment, and turn to page five of your _Magical Drafts and Potions_ and mix up the antidote for boils that you will find there. Ten points will be awarded to the House of the ingenious witch or wizard that produces the best attempt, and the clever student that comes in second will win his or her House five points. Now, off to work, all of you!"

Immediately after he had finished making this announcement, there was a tremendous scraping throughout the dungeon, as everybody drew their cauldrons toward them. Although there were several resounding clunks that echoed throughout the classroom as people added weights to their scales, nobody chatted with their neighbors, since all were focused solely upon winning the competition.

Like everyone else, Remus rifled feverishly through his text, found the appropriate page, grabbed the required materials, measured out the necessary amounts as swiftly and as accurately as possible, and then placed the first ones into his cauldron. Following the instructions, he stirred and added ingredients as directed. For awhile, this method worked flawlessly, but then when he had arrived at the second to last step, he encountered true difficulty for the first time.

According to Mr. Jigger, his potion ought to be turning from a blueberry color to a sky blue as he mixed it three times first in clockwise, and then in counterclockwise directions, but the substance was obstinately remaining the former hue, no matter how much he stirred, to Remus' irritation.

His temper was further piqued when he glanced across the lab table, and realized that Snape had just successfully completed his potion, even though he had clearly invented his own directives several times throughout the course of mixing the antidote for boils, although Remus could no recall exactly how and where he had deviated from the norm, so he could not follow the other boy's lead, even if he had desired to do so, which he didn't, not in the slightest. Lily, too, seemed to have encountered no obstacles in creating the potion, for she had plainly just finished following alternative directions to the ones Jigger provided, and was adding a final touch of mint, although Jigger made no mention of mint, and Snape hadn't employed this tidbit of unorthodoxy, either.

Annoyed, Remus glanced away from the sights of their victories, and gazed into Marlene's cauldron, instead. By the appearance of her potion, she had been stymied two steps behind him. He and Marlene had just swapped aggrieved expressions when Slughorn ordered them all to retreat from their concoctions, so that he could judge their efforts.

Once everyone had stepped away from their work, the Potions master progressed through the room, inspecting each of the teenagers' final products. Mostly, he accomplished this in silence, offering those who had performed decently approving nods, frowning and shaking his head at those who had been less successful, and plugging his nose and emitting chiding tuts over the cauldrons of those whose endeavors he deemed as particularly pathetic or disastrous.

When he reached the table next to the one where Remus was, he demanded of two black-haired lads, who were chortling next to each other, "What is this, boys?"

"It's a potion to induce boils," replied one boy, his hazel eyes glinting slyly.

"We'd thought that you'd surely recognize it, sir," continued the second, a saucy expression in his dark eyes.

"Yeah, because you're so skilled at Potions, Professor," completed the lad who had spoken first, and Remus gawked at the pair of them, appalled by their audacity. Surely, Professor Slughorn would not stand for such blatant insubordination, and these impudent boys would be in for a week's worth of detention. Yet, Slughorn did not seem offended by their cheek. In fact, he was grinning broadly, and somehow Remus knew that they were not about to be sentenced to a harsh punishment for insolence. For some reason, Remus was reminded of Chet, and how his charisma, and charming, casual smile had rescued him from any tight spot, because these two adolescents appeared to be blessed with this same innate, indefinable aura that rendered them impossible to hate.

"I can recognize the potion, but I did request that you concoct an antidote for boils, boys, not one to induce them. However, since you've executed these so perfectly, I'll let your disobedience slide, just this once, though do not become accustomed to such displays of generosity, for there won't be any more." Here, Slughorn waved an admonishing finger at the two miscreants, but ruined most of the impact by chuckling. His semblance of a lecture complete, he pressed, "Now, tell me your names."

"Sirius Black," responded the dark-eyed one.

"James Potter," the hazel-eyed one answered.

"Well, Sirius and James, feel free to stop by my office anytime you desire, because if this is what you accomplish as a joke, I think that you could achieve very impressive things should you chose to apply yourselves entirely," stated Slughorn, clapping each of them affably on the shoulders, before reverting his attention to the table where Remus, Marlene, Lily, and Snape were arrayed with their potions.

Marlene's work garnered an approving nod, and Remus' earned him a pat upon the shoulder, and a cheery, "Ah, so you got all the way up to the second to last step, my boy― not bad, not bad at all!"

However, Snape's potion received even higher honors, for when Slughorn stood over it, he pronounced, "Excellent, simply excellent. Your decision to cut out the three counterclockwise stirs was undeniably an effective one, my dear boy. Oh, I can hardly call you that forever, can I? No, I must have your name."

"Severus Snape, sir." Snape's sallow cheeks were tinged with pink, but there was more than a trace of pride in his bearing, and he shot Remus a smug look. Scowling, Remus averted his eyes, convinced that Jigger's instructions were better than Snape's, but that Remus himself just wasn't skilled enough to demonstrate this.

"Good, well, drop by my office whenever you wish, Severus," declared Slughorn, prior to examining Lily's work, and gasping out all the oxygen in his lungs.

"Why, you've done absolutely magnificently, my dear!" he exclaimed, glowing down at the teenaged girl. "This is brilliant, and is that mint that I see floating along the top of your potion?"

"Your eyes don't deceive you, Professor," commented Lily, her lips quirking, "unless I happened to have misread the vial in your storage cabinet, which is possible, I suppose, because the script on some of them is really very sloppy and illegible, if you ask me."

At her words, Remus' eyes widened. Yes, he had gotten the impression that she was a wit on the train, but he hadn't imagined that she would sass a teacher. After all, Remus himself was not above baiting Marlene, but he would never dream of mocking an instructor, but Lily had just done so.

For a moment, he feared that Slughorn would inform her that she could spend her free hours for several days labeling potions ingredients, if she felt his handwriting was such a disgrace, but, like he had done when James and Sirius taunted him, the Head of Slytherin only chuckled, "Oho, we've a cheeky little miss right here, but spunk isn't always a crime, especially in one so intuitive, because the mint would certainly calm the headaches experienced as a result of drinking the potion. So, what name do you go by, miss?"

"Lily Evans."

"Well, Miss Evans, I hope to be treated to more of your sass in my office sometime." After establishing as much, Slughorn clapped his hands jovially to reclaim the class' attention, before proclaiming, "Well, our bold Lily Evans has won her House ten points, and Severus Snape has earned five points for Slytherin."

As he concluded this declaration, the bell rang, ending double Potions, and a din ensued as everybody packed up their equipment, shoved their books into their bags, swung their satchels over their shoulders, and departed the room.

With some trouble, Remus and Marlene managed to find their way back to the Great Hall, where they gobbled down a helping of chicken pie each, and then set off for History of Magic, which they had next with the Ravenclaws. After losing themselves a grand total of ten times, they arrived in the correct classroom, and settled into a double desk behind the blonde girl, who had been made a Gryffindor, whom Remus had accidentally stubbed the toe of last evening.

Gradually, the rest of the class trickled in, entering in groups of twos and threes, and when the bell rang, they were all greeted with a terrible shock when the ghost of Professor Binns, their History of Magic teacher, sailed through the blackboard.

Ignoring their screams and sharps inhalations, Binns plopped into his chair, opened a notebook, cleared his throat with a sound like chalk banging into the sides of a steel pail, and commenced reading in a monotone about the circumstances that had preceded the formation of the International Confederation of Wizards, and how the delegates from Liechtenstein had refused to attend, because they contested the appointment of a Pierre Bonaccord to the position of chairman.

Panicking because this ghost was shooting off a million facts a minute, Remus unscrewed his ink bottle, and jotted down notes as rapidly as he could, although he was confident that he only managed to record about a fourth of what the professor rambled on about, because he spoke without pausing between his sentences. However, none of his peers seemed to be sharing Remus' dilemma.

In fact, they appeared to be thriving in the atmosphere of neglect, because Professor Binns plainly was not conscious that he actually possessed an audience for this particular lecture. Many pupils were whispering with friends, skimming through magazines, catching up on the sleep they had missed last night, or staring blankly out the window at the grounds and lake, which were far more fascinating than any dull, irrelevant historical event could ever hope to be.

Six minutes or so into the lesson, Marlene nudged him in the ribs, and gestured for him to engage in a game of hangman with her, but he shook his head in refusal, and hissed, "I'm trying to learn, stupid, so that one of us won't fail the year."

Snorting derisively, Marlene tapped the blonde girl who Remus believed was named Mary Macdonald on the back with the tip of her quill. Upon Marlene's rap, Mary Macdonald roused herself out of her doze with a start, and whirled about to face the one who had awakened her.

While Remus returned his focus to the lecture Binns was giving solely for his benefit at this point, he noted out of the corner of his eyes that the two lasses were engaging in a written conversation on Marlene's parchment, which bore absolutely no data on the subject of the International Confederation of Wizards.

When Remus' hand and arm were sore from note-taking, the bell finally sounded, and he wrapped up his parchment, and tucked his bookbag across his shoulder, as those who had been daydreaming bolted to their feet and grabbed their bags, those who had been asleep roused themselves grudgingly, and those who had been reading tabloids folded them up reluctantly.

In the company of Marlene and Mary Macdonald, whom Marlene appeared to have become buddies with in the course of the History of Magic lesson, Remus hurried off to Transfiguration, which they had next with the Hufflepuffs. He was pleased when they arrived in the right classroom after only getting lost five times.

However, his mood soured when Marlene chose to seat herself at a double desk with Mary, not him, as a punishment, he supposed, for his rebuffing her in History of Magic class. Stung by the notion that his best friend could ever prefer anyone's company to his, he whipped out his _Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_, a quill, and a scroll of parchment, so that he was prepared to take notes immediately, if need be, pretending not to be hurt that she had snubbed him, and left him to sit alone.

Slowly, the classroom filled. Remus had been settled in his chair for perhaps a moment when Sirius, James, and a slight, rat-like boy with watery eyes entered the room, and Sirius languidly plopped into the desk behind Remus. James looked like he wanted to situate himself next to Sirius, but changed his mind when Lily strolled into the room by herself, because Snape had classes with his fellow Slytherins, which, in Remus' opinion, was a mercy, and perhaps proof of a divine presence in a corrupt world, although he supposed that sentiment might be a little melodramatic.

"Hey, Evans," James invited instead, nodding at a vacant double desk in front of Remus, "would you care to sit with me?"

"I wouldn't sit with you, Potter, if it was a choice between you and a viper," she educated him coolly, shooting him a scathing glance, "which, fortunately for me, it isn't."

"Watch it, Evans, or I'll transfigure you into a viper," James retorted, flicking his wand menacingly at her. Grunting like a Neanderthal, he started to head back toward the desk where Sirius was, spotted that the rat-like boy had slid into the second seat, and told the boy whom he addressed as Peter to travel to London as soon as humanly possible and jump off the roof of the highest skyscraper without placing a Cushioning Charm upon himself. Then, he plopped into a chair at the desk in front of Remus.

"First you'll have to drag your fat head out of the clouds, where it seems to have taken up permanent residence, long enough to learn how to perform magic, assuming that somebody as arrogant as yourself can actually humble himself enough to really learn anything from anybody, that is," countered Lily archly. Then, before James could snap back, she scanned the room for somewhere to sit, and smiled when she saw the vacant chair next to Remus.

"You don't mind if I take this seat, do you, Remus?" she inquired, her friendly tone perfectly genuine.

"Nope." He shook his head, and she dropped into the chair beside him.

"Why wouldn't you sit with Potter?" he whispered, although he wasn't upset that she hadn't, because now he had company. Still, it was puzzling that Lily had lashed out James Potter like that when she seemed like a nice enough girl, but it was entirely possible that she suffered from bipolar disorder or something, although if she did, the odds were that she wouldn't confess her disease to him, just like he would never admit to her that he was a werewolf.

"Potter and his idiotic sidekick, Black, were gits to Sev on the train, which is why we had to relocate to your compartment," she explained, "and I won't be kind to anyone who treats my friends like rubbish, even if they do have the hots for me, like Potter obviously does."

Remembering with a twinge of guilt how he hadn't been the paradigm of exceptionally good manners with Snape, either, Remus hedged, "I argued with your buddy on the train, as well, so why are you associating with me?"

She laughed, but, like Marlene's, it wasn't an unpleasant or mocking one, just a hearty, amused one that invited whoever heard it to enjoy the joke, as well, even if they didn't know what was so hilarious yet. "Don't be silly. You don't have to become best mates with Sev for me to like you. I mean, I'm aware that he can be as stinging as a scrrpion's tail at times. Besides, the pair of you disagreed because he provoked you, not because you chose to interrupt his conversation to insult him. There's a distinction."

Remus had no opportunity to absorb this, because the door flew open, and severe Professor McGonagall entered, ordering, "Be quiet, all of you, this instant, or I'll place s Silencing Charm upon you, and I won't lift it until the end of the lesson."

Obediently, like everybody else there assembled, Lily and Remus broke off their exchange, and riveted their attention upon the front of the classroom, as Professor McGonagall strode briskly up there. When she reached the head of the room, she pivoted, and affixed her wary eagle's eyes upon them, and educated them all in a distinctly menacing fashion that Transfiguration was one of the more complicated branches of magic in which they would be instructed at Hogwarts, an assessment that Remus could verify from his textbook reading, and that, therefore, anyone lunatic enough to fool around would find themselves in trouble up to their eyeballs before they could utter the word "Switching Spells."

After imparting this gem upon a group of first-years who could easily conclude from the severe creases lining her features that she was more likely to transfigure herself into a parrot than she was to permit a raucous student in her domain to escape appropriate punishment for their crimes, she determined that she had impressed her point adequately upon them, and jabbed her wand at her desk, which was suddenly no longer a piece of furniture, but, rather, a piece of livestock― more specifically, a pig. The abrupt transformation that had been rendered upon the teacher's desk caused many of the pupils to squeal like piglets themselves in alarm, screech like owls in surprise, or, like Remus, gasp in awe at this miraculous spellwork accomplished with no fuss or fanfare.

Ignoring their reactions completely, Professor McGonagall started to lecture them upon the essential foundations of Transfiguration, and the laws that anyone attempting to transfigure anything, no matter how elementary, must abide by, if they did not want to be greeted with dismal failure, or, worse, the gruesome loss or life or limb.

In all fairness to her, though, she was acutely aware of her audience, and anyone imprudent enough to snooze or stare out the window would doubtlessly be the distinguished and lucky recipient of a scorching tongue-lashing, and any dimwit who decided to read a magazine would probably soon discover that it had been confiscated, or else transformed into a bunch of worms, or something equally revolting.

Despite of this, the unruly James Potter, whose messy hair matched his temperament perfectly, did not seem to be intimidated by this formidable bastion of a woman, for he quickly scribbled a note on a scrap of parchment. When he was done penning this fragment of correspondence, James actually had the nerve to twist around in his chair, and attempt to hand the folded paper, which had "To Sirius Black, not to be opened by any nosy person, unless they want their nose lopped off" scrawled upon it, to Lily, who responded with an impolite gesture that entailed her middle finger. Luckily, Professor McGonagall was outlining a handful of major points upon the blackboard, and did not spot this scene unfolding.

Remus was copying down McGonagall's third key point when James focused upon him, and thrust the illicit note at him. Sighing, Remus relieved the other lad of it, figuring that James was the type who would pursue the issue until he had his way, and that would eventually attract McGonagall's attention, so he may as well pass the note to Sirius while she had her back toward them.

As rapidly as he could, Remus whirled about, dumped the note on Sirius' desk, and focused on McGonagall once more, his quill flying to write down all the words he had missed during his brief distraction.

Remus had barely returned his attention to the front of the room when McGonagall's razor sharp voice cracked through the classroom like a cat-o-nine, "Mr. Black, hand me that letter this instant."

"With all due respect, Professor," protested Sirius, who clearly thought he owed her very little of the aforementioned commodity, "it's addressed to me, so you can't read it, or open it, because doing so without my express permission is a violation of Ministry laws."

"It is against Hogwarts rules to disobey a direct order issued by any member of the staff, and you would do well to recollect that if you'd like to graduate." Her lips thinning, while her nostrils flared in counterpoint, McGonagall flicked her wand, and Summoned the parchment over to her. As the paper flew into her outstretched palm, she added tersely, "Black, you have detention Friday night at six o'clock. Report to my office at that time. If you're tardy, you'll see how that one detention can magically multiply into two, and, if you don't show up at all, you'll be packing your bags faster than a fair weather friend in a hailstorm. Do you understand me?"

At Sirius' short, indolent nod of assent, she declared for the benefit of the whole class, who were all gaping alternatively at her and Sirius, as though a verbal Muggle tennis match was occurring between the pair of them, "Anybody who is caught swapping notes in my class will have them confiscated and read aloud, because it must be of pressing importance to everyone if it is necessary to interrupt my lesson on account of."

She slit open the parchment, and, for a moment, it seemed that a Stunning Spell had been cast upon her at this juncture, for her eyes were wider than Galleons, and her mouth opened as though she were aiming to catch flies. When her limp hand dropped a notch, Remus, like the rest of the room, discovered that James Potter had been audacious enough to draw a caricature of Professor McGonagall.

Unfortunately for him, he also happened to be a talented cartoonist, which meant that the enlarged, stiff bun, piercing eyes that could cut diamond, and firm lips were unmistakable to anyone with one seventh of a functioning eye. Moreover, James had been arrogant enough to sign his name on the bottom of the cartoon McGonagall's robes in a massive script that even Martians would have been able to read without the aid of a telescope.

"Potter," barked Professor McGonagall once she had recovered her dignity, "you may join Black in detention― same time, same place― and we'll learn whether you are as skilled at writing 10,000 word essays upon the importance of respecting those who are wiser than you are, and have charitably elected to invest their time and energy trying to educate you, something that seems quite impossible at the present." As the entire congregation whispered to each other in horrified awe at the harsh sentence, their teacher concluded airily, "If, by some trick of nature, you aren't as wonderful a writer as you are a cartoonist, I suggest that you intern at the _Daily Prophet_, because they are always searching for someone who can distort the truth, and amuse the ignorant masses, so you could have quite a career as a cartoonist there."

"Thanks ever so much for your concern, Professor," James countered flippantly, "but, in this case, it is unwarranted, for my parents assure me that I am a man of many talents."

Sirius snorted at this remark, but James paid no mind to him, because he currently had eyes only for Lily Evans. As James craned his neck to ascertain what she thought of his taunt, Lily's lips, which had quirked upward in amusement, swiftly flattened into an uncompromising, hard line that resembled McGonagall's. So, concealing as best he could his dejection at Lily's reaction to his wisecrack, James faced front again, as Remus debated fleetingly if, based on the almost apoplectic look on their instructor's features, it was more likely that she would explode, or strangle Potter.

In the end, however, she merely announced in a lofty tone, "Your parents must either be blind, or else were striving to be kind," and turned her back upon him, continuing to lecture the class upon the basics of Transfigurations.

She kept teaching right up until the bell that dismissed them rang, and ten seconds before it did, she commented, "If Potter and Black had conducted themselves as though they were their age, instead of as if they were spoiled two-year-olds denied their treats, we would have had time to apply the basics we covered today by transforming matches into needles, but, as it is, that will have to wait until next lesson, I'm afraid."

The last word had only just emerged from her mouth when the bell sounded, and Remus, like everybody else, began packing up, shoving his quill, parchment, and textbook into his satchel. However, he was only halfway through this process when McGonagall's voice sliced through the din like a foghorn, "Mr. Lupin, please stay here for a moment after. I wish to discuss something with you."

His hands trembled, and his face was transfigured into a giant cherry, as he threw his remaining supplies into his bag, moving as slowly as possible, because it provided him with an excuse to dawdle while everyone else hurried to finish packing up, and jockeyed their way out the door. As he kept his head bowed so that none of his peers could glimpse the humiliation or nervousness upon his face, Remus wondered what he had done wrong.

Throughout the lesson, he had been attentive, and had taken notes, and hadn't interrupted her, or whispered to anyone. Perhaps, she had seem him pass Potter's note to Black, but, honestly, he hadn't known what the letter contained, so he should hardly be held accountable for its contents, and what was he supposed to have done, anyhow? After all, if he had refused to pass the note, Potter doubtlessly would have persisted, and then it would have been more of a distraction…

While these sentiments chased each other inside his head, Remus realized that the room had emptied. The last person to depart was Marlene, who shot him an encouraging look before following Mary Macdonald down to dinner. Heartened somewhat by Marlene's glance, Remus swallowed, swung his bookbag over his shoulder, and trudged hesitantly up to McGonagall's desk.

When he approached, she swished her wand, and he flinched instinctively, but all she did was conjure a straight-backed wooden chair across from her desk.

"Sit," she ordered, gesturing for him to do so.

"Professor, I didn't do anything wrong, I swear― it was all Potter and Black," he stammered, as he plopped into the seat. That hadn't sounded nearly as eloquent or as intelligent as he had hoped, but maybe she would take pity on the cringing imbecile before her.

"You aren't in trouble," she informed him. She glanced around the classroom, checking that it was indeed empty save for them, and then proceeded in a whisper, "Now, Professor Dumbledore has explained to the whole staff your― condition."

Here Remus lowered his head, and stared at the flagstones, which he had taken a sudden, inexplicable interest in. Studying them was loads better than looking at his professor at the moment, anyway.

"You needn't be worried, for all the members of our staff have read Scamander's work on magical creatures, and are aware that werewolves are only as dangerous as the rest of the population, except for on the full moon, when they lose control." She must have detected his discomfiture, for her tone was slightly less acerbic, and more humane than it had been previously.

When he glanced up again, emboldened by her comment, she stated, "Professor Dumbledore was able to work out a plan whereby you will by taken away from anyone you could infect during the period when you are transformed, and he asked me, as your Head of House, to fill you in upon it, and I chose to do so now, so that we have ample opportunity to resolve any problems before the full moon arrives, not that Professor Dumbledore's plans usually have any holes in them, but I believe it is better to be safe than sorry."

_That's right_, Remus observed mentally, _Professor Dumbledore told me that he would have my Head of House tell me what I should do on the full moon when I came to school. I was dumb to have forgotten about it. Well, even if I had remembered, it wouldn't have done me much good, because I didn't know that McGonagall was the Head of Gryffindor. She seems more of a Ravenclaw than a Gryffindor, but, no, Dad says that Flitwick is Head of Ravenclaw, and he would know, because he was one himself. _

"The plan, Mr. Lupin, is a fairly simple one," Professor McGonagall detailed. "On the evening of the full moon, you will report to the hospital wing before dusk. Madam Promfery will escort you down to the grounds. There, we have planted a new tree called a Whomping Willow, which pummels anyone who approaches it, unless they know which root to pull to halt its antics for a short while. Madam Promfery is aware of which root to pull, as you might have surmised, which is why she shall accompany you. Under the tree, you will find a passageway, which feeds into a shack that is built on a hill overlooking Hogsmeade. You will go down this passage, and into the hut, because Dumbldore has purchased it, so that you may transform there without harming anyone. At dawn, you will head back toward the entrance covered by the Whomping Willow, where Madam Promfery will be waiting to collect you. You'll go up to the hospital wing, and receive any necessary ministrations, and then life will return to normal until the next full moon. Have you any questions?"

"No, Professor," Remus replied after a moment's pause, in which he determined that the plan seemed perfectly feasible to him, and, as Professor McGonagall had claimed, it wasn't terribly complex. Trust Dumbledore to devise an easy but effective plan.

"Then, you may go." She waved a hand in dismissal. "No doubt you have friends waiting for you in the Great Hall."

Remus rose, and turned to leave. However, a sudden inspiration prompted him to pivot, and ask, "Um, Professor, where exactly is the Great Hall?"

After Professor McGongall had given him directions, he left to go join Marlene for supper, thinking that his first day at Hogwarts had not been dreadful, even if he had gotten lost on numerous occasions, and had been bullied by Peeves, since Slughorn had adopted him as a pet, and he had a plan for handling the full moon when it came.

Soon, he would have more friends than just Marlene. Lily seemed to like him, since she had decided to sit down next to him and chat with him, and she wouldn't be a bad person to hang out with, if only she wasn't so attached to the annoying Snape. After all, there was something about her, a sort of kindness and acceptance for everyone that only came from absolute confidence in oneself, and an outrage at any injustice she might encounter, that reminded him of Marlene, and Remus suspected that she wouldn't mind much if she discovered that he was a werewolf. Not that he would ever tell her, of course, because you could never be positive with people, but, still, on a whole, she was definitely a potential friend in his eyes.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: If you believe that I own Harry Potter, I also possess a charming piece of real estate on Jupiter that I'd be delighted to sell you, if you're interested. (That means I don't own Harry Potter, in case you haven't figured it out yet, but I do take full credit for the serious/Sirius pun, because I'm positive that I'm the only one who has noticed it, or appreciated the irony of a prankster being named Sirius.)

Best Friends Forever

However, it transpired that, despite Remus' thoughts about Lily Evans becoming his next best friend after Marlene, she did not become his first new friend at Hogwarts, because she spent most of her free time in the company of Severus Snape, or a fellow Gryffindor girl, Alice Wright, and did not require Remus' companionship, meaning that, although relations between them remained cordial, a true friendship was not forged between them, which was why Remus was curled up on his four poster bed, reading a library book he had checked out to assist him in writing an Herbology essay, at nine o'clock on the second Saturday of his career at Hogwarts.

That day, he had spent most of the morning strolling around the grounds with Marlene, and then engaged in a chess tournament, which he won, and an Exploding Snap tournament, from which she had emerged victorious, with her in the afternoon. It was only after he had returned from supper shortly before seven at night that he settled himself at a table in the common room, and started attacking the homework that he had been assigned.

This was a feat that was easier said than done, for Remus appeared to be the only Gryffindor who desired to study. The rest of his House seemed perfectly content to chat with one another on the top of their voices, scream at those on the opposite ends of the chamber, instead of coming to confer with them at a normal conversational distance, laugh in a high pitched manner, throw objects at their enemies and buddies alike, and horse around. All in all, he suspected that a tribe of rampaging trolls or giants couldn't have been more obstreperous, as he struggled to focus on his homework.

When he had finished with his Charms and History of Magic work, Remus decided that concentrating in the distracting common room was giving him a walloping headache, and he packed up his textbooks, parchment, and writing implements in his satchel, before making his way over to the spiral stairwell that led up to his dormitory, figuring that he could study more effectively up there.

However, his relocation quickly proved itself to be as prudent as leaping into a scalding pool of lava to relieve oneself from the heat of the noon sun, for James Potter and Sirius Black, as well as their eager-to-please tagalong, Peter Pettigrew, were there, and the former were currently embroiled in a mock Wizarding duel with the latter egging them on in a squeaky, sycophant voice, and apparently serving as second for both Black and Potter. Despite the fact that it was a fake fight, Black and Potter were making more noise in their mini-war than that which resulted from most blitzes in Muggle combat.

Emitting a martyred sigh, Remus slipped onto his bed, and thumbed through the tome he had borrowed from the library, searching for the chapter on Devil's Snare that he needed to find, so that he could use his research for his essay on it, which was due Tuesday. He had only just flipped to the relevant section when his attention was tugged away from his book, because James howled in pretend agony, sounding as though he were the werewolf, not Remus, as Black feigned to strike him with a terribly painful hex.

As he rolled his eyes in exasperation with the proceedings, Remus contemplated if it was worth going to the library to study instead, but, in the end, he chose to remain in his dorm, because, with the way his luck was presently going, he would probably just have gotten comfortable there when he would have to depart, so that he could return to his common room prior to curfew, and, anyhow, Madam Pince discomfited him too much for him to truly accomplish anything in her domain. Therefore, he resumed his reading about the properties of Devil's Snare right where he was, shaking his head in resigned disapproval of his rowdy room-mates.

He had only just begun to read about the precise method by which it entrapped its victims when Sirius shrieked voluminously enough to burst the eardrums of anyone within a hundred kilometer vicinity, and the fifth member of their dormitory, Jeffrey Rutherford, snarled, from his position on his bed, where Remus hadn't spotted him pursuing a comic book, "Shut your traps, you three, or I'll close them for you—with a fist!"

"Sirius, man, did you hear a voice?" James inquired of his best friend, his forehead furrowing in mock consternation, as Peter laughed shrilly, Sirius sneered, and Jeffrey's eyes narrowed in response until they were cold slits with the objective, presumably, being to give his opponents the impression that he had misplaced the spectacles that he didn't possess, or that he was having difficulty remaining awake. Why this was intended as an intimidating gesture was an as yet unresolved mystery in Remus' opinion.

Jeffrey's mouth sprang open to retort, but Sirius beat him to the case, when he remarked in an offhanded fashion, "I might have, but I'm not too fussed about it, because it didn't sound like an important one."

"Yeah, well, your ears just deceived you, then, because the speaker will punch your ears to a bloody pulp if you don't listen to him, and obey his commands," growled Jeffrey, advancing on James and Sirius with his mouth in a thin, hard line, which was again obviously meant to function as a threatening behavior, although, if one were to encounter a dragon, one would be immensely grateful if its mouth were in a thin, hard line, rather than agape in its customary fanged and fire-breathing manner.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to make promises you can't keep, Rutherford?" Sirius waggled an admonishing finger in Jeffrey's direction.

To Remus, it seemed as though Jeffrey was about to fire back that he had never been more devoted to fulfilling a promise before in his life, or something else to that effect, but he was chopped off before he could begin to establish as much by James, who clapped his best mate on the back, and commented, "You know, Sirius, I'm a bit tired of dueling at the moment. Why don't we snack on some of the treats Mum and Dad mailed me this morning, instead? Then, we can go back to fighting once we've fortified ourselves."

"That sounds fine," Sirius agreed after a moment's deliberation. "Well, I suppose that the odds dictate that even complete idiots like yourself will occasionally concoct a decent plan, if only owing to pure chance."

"And the odds decree that even an imbecile like you would recognize a brilliant plan every once in a blue moon," chuckled the other boy, yanking a cardboard box of candies and other delicacies that he had received from his parents via owl at breakfast out from under his bed.

Remus battled to squash a surge of envy that flared inside him as Potter tossed Peter and Sirius handfuls of Chocolate Frogs, Cauldron Cakes, and Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans, and piled a mountain of treats up for himself, as well. Honestly, Potter really didn't deserve such goodies when he and Black were the worst mischief makers in the year. After all, only on Wednesday the two rogues had set off a batch of Fillibuster Fireworks in the Charms corridor, and, from there, the firecrackers had traveled throughout the school, disrupting classes left, right, and center, and earning the two instigators of this mayhem a week's worth of detention, lines, and a letter home apiece. Yet, all Potter's parents did when he had misbehaved in such as fashion was send him a box of treats! Merlin, Remus would have been fortunate if he didn't receive a Howler from his dad, or get taken home again.

Perhaps, Sirius harbored similar sentiments, for he observed dryly, as Remus forced himself to cease gazing wistfully at the treats, and return to his studies on Devil's Snare, "You're so lucky that you got a box of goodies from your parents, instead of a blasted Howler like the one I received on Friday from my affectionate, doting mother, whom I absolutely adore." The glower that Remus could detect even while he read in detail about the damp, cool environment preferred by the Devil's Snare belied his words, as he continued in a tone that was more bitter than vinegar, "I'll bet that the rotten woman, who grows on people like a wart, waited to mail it so that she could be sure that it would arrive during Friday's breakfast, and spoil the rest of my Friday, which, of course, is the second best day of the week, because it means that Saturday is coming. Still, I suppose I should be grateful that I wasn't home, since then after a tongue-lashing from Mum, I'd also be treated to a real licking from Dad with his stupid silver-topped cane, and while that's about the only father-son bonding time we have, I'd just as soon pass on it."

At this, Remus' head jerked up, and he gawked at the lad who had announced as much in a casual tone, as if he had never glimpsed another human being in his entire life. He couldn't imagine being beaten...it must be dreadfully painful. Sure, he had been spanked a couple of times, and those occasions hadn't exactly been pleasant, and were certainly experiences he could have gone his whole existence without, but he had figured out that the spankings he had gotten stung his dignity more than his body. However, he was pretty confident that the same did not hold true for an actual caning.

Suddenly, Remus discovered that he felt an overwhelming sympathy for the other teenager. When he paused to consider the matter, he realized that Black really wasn't such a horrid person, and a great deal of his arrogance might be accounted for simply by the fact that he was probably overcompensating for the feelings of weakness and invulnerability that doubtlessly deluged him when he was beaten...But it wouldn't due for Sirius to know of Remus' pity, because he wasn't the sort who would appreciate or tolerate it. Keeping this principle in mind, Remus retreated into his book, although Herbology was no longer on his mind at all.

"My parents are totally different than yours," James replied through a mouthful of Cauldron Cake, because, clearly, among the items Mr. and Mrs. Potter had not hammered into their son's head, were table manners. "They pamper me, which is why they sent me the candy rather than a Howler. Hey, I'll wager that if I was expelled, they'd only clap their hands, and exclaim that it's magnificent that I'll be home with them all year round. It's probably because I'm an only child, and they were quite old when they had me—Mum explained that they were afraid they'd never be able to have a child, so they were ecstatic when she got pregnant with me."

Here, there was a brief interlude in the conversation, while he rummaged about in the container his mother and father had owled him, and then withdrew several bottles, which he distributed to himself and his two friends, and called over to Remus, "Lupin, do you want some butterbeer?"

"No, thank you," Remus stuttered, embarrassed, since he had believed that none of his peers had noticed his surreptitiously observing them. "I don't imagine that my parents would approve of my drinking any beverage with 'beer' in its name."

"Don't be a pompous prat," snorted James, striding over to him with two butterbeers, one opened, and the other still unopened, in his arms, thrusting the closed bottle into Remus' right hand, and plopping onto Remus' bed without requesting permission to do so. "There's only enough alcohol in this to get a house-elf drunk if it consumes approximately fifty servings of it in a row. Do you honestly think that my mum and dad would send me anything dangerous?"

"You just admitted that your parents basically do whatever you ask them to do, so, yeah, he does," Sirius interjected before Remus could respond.

"Did I mention how much I love long walks, especially when they're taken be people, like you, Sirius, that I don't care for in the slightest?" snapped James, glaring at the other boy.

"And did I tell you how much I like your approach, and would love nothing more than to see your departure?" Sirius volleyed back.

"Here's a drum, now beat it, will you?" James rolled his eyes, before focusing on Remus again. "Seriously, mate—"

"How many times, Potter, do I have to tell you that nobody but me can be Sirius, or do anything in a Sirius manner?" interrupted Sirius Black, amusing himself with a pun of his first name.

"What word can I use, then?" demanded an irritated James.

"Jamesly." Sirius managed to maintain a straight face as he stated this, but Remus couldn't stifle a slight smile when it came to his lips.

"That sounds retarded," James mumbled. "Anyhow, Lupin, there's nothing to worry about in drinking some butterbeer, and I'll be offended if you don't have any after my generous offer."

"Fine. I'll have that butterbeer, thank you," conceded Remus, opening and sipping the beverage Potter had forced upon him. When the drink descended into his stomach, he was surprised by the warmth and placidness that abruptly enveloped him like a wool blanket on a freezing January evening. Mostly to cover the tranquility and heat that flooded him when he consumed the butterbeer, he added with more than a tinge of accusation shading his tone, "Why are you being so considerate of me? After all, you didn't offer Jeffrey any refreshment."

"Jeffrey is just lucky that I didn't make a refreshment of him, or Spellotape his big mouth shut when he ruined our duel," grunted James.

"That doesn't answer my question, though," Remus dared to point out, because the butterbeer afforded him enough detachment not to be intimidated by the prospect of challenging a boy who was already earning a reputation as one of the most popular adolescents in the year, and not one to cross, since he did happen to enjoy hexing those who aggravated him.

Luckily, James didn't seem miffed at the inquiry, for he merely answered, "You are friends with Lily—Evans, I mean."

"We're not exactly friends, and we're not exactly strangers—we're acquaintances, is more accurate," he corrected, not wanting Potter to pretend to be buddies with him in an attempt to appease his crush, Lily, partly because the ploy wouldn't work, and partly because he wouldn't have been able to stand the shame, anyway.

"Still, you've managed to have more decent conversations with her than I have," James reminded him. "The last time that I attempted to speak with her, she declared that I'm so repulsive that the only thing on the whole cursed planet that is attracted to me is gravity."

"So, you're using me to convince Lily that you're really a kind bloke at heart, huh?" Remus arched his eyebrows at his counterpart.

"No, I just felt badly when I spotted you laying here all alone, and I figured that I'd chat with you for awhile." His companion shook his head vehemently as he denied this charge. "Come on. Join us for some Pumpkin Pasties. I haven't passed any of them out yet, so I promise that they'll be plenty for you to gobble up."

"I can't," Remus stammered. He would have delighted in laughing and chattering with the three other lads, but he couldn't because the young man before him and Sirius made him recall Chet, and he couldn't bear to have a ghost dragged up when he was supposed to be relaxing.

Before James could respond, Jeffrey exploded, "None of you have any intention of shutting up so I can read my comic book, do you?"

"Nope," Sirius noted languidly, "but we'd all assumed that you had closed your mouth, and nothing could have rendered us gladder. Then, you have to go, and rain on the celebration of your finally shutting up. Seriously, you're the world's number one party popper. Congratulations!"

"Go get lost somewhere that doesn't have a found department!" shouted Jeffrey. Then, he stalked out of the dormitory himself, and stormed down the staircase to bestow massive amounts of merriment upon the fortunate occupants of the common room, who would probably soon be wondering why the Sorting Hat couldn't have been merciful, and placed them in another House—any other House, even Slytherin.

Once Jeffrey had stomped of in a towering temper, James whirled around to face Remus again, and persisted, "Why in the name of Merlin's shaggy left sock can't you join us? Is your book really so much more fascinating than we are? Never mind, it can't be, for it's entitled _A Treatise on Various Exotic Species of Plants and Fungi_, and I almost fell into a deep slumber just reading the title."

"I can't since you remind me of someone I once knew, that's all," clarified Remus, struggling to evict Chet from his mind.

"Who?" pressed a curious James. Then, a goading note entered his voice, "Is there a woman in your past? Ugly, no doubt, and terribly desperate to date anyone, that goes without saying—"

"I was referring to my male cousin, for your edification," Remus educated him tartly.

"You have a cousin?" This time it was Sirius, devouring Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans with Peter, who posed the question. "Why haven't you mentioned him before now? Is he a Slytherin, like my beloved cousins, Bellatrix and Narcissa, or does he pick his nose, or something else that is equally anathema?"

"No, the last time I saw him he wasn't big on picking his nose, and he is not a Slytherin," muttered Remus, flushing, and wishing that he had never entered into this exchange in the first place. "He is two years my senior, and if he attended Hogwarts, he'd be a Gryffindor, I'll bet, because he was always devising the wackiest schemes when we were younger."

"He doesn't attend school here?" echoed an astonished Sirius. "Is he a Squib?"

"Nah." Remus shook his head in negation. "He is a wizard, I'm certain, but he lives in America, where he emigrated after You-Know-Who's minions murdered his father, and his mum determined that it was prudent for them to leave the country, and live with her family, because there was nothing left for either of them here, and it was dangerous here, so, anyway, he attends a school of magic in Boston, as that's the nearest American school, since he lives in Rhode Island when he's not in school."

"I'm sorry," whispered James, a rueful glint in his hazel eyes. "I—I understand. My mum's brother married a Muggleborn witch, and You-Know-Who's Death Eaters killed them both, and their little baby girl, Lauren, because they can't stand blood traitors, the filthy psychopaths. That's why I hate Dark Magic. If only uppity Evans knew, then she might not loathe me so much."

Sirius ignored the last part, the fraction pertaining to Lily, and pronounced resentfully, "And my family—the _noble_ and most ancient house of Black, obviously, you halfwits—supports You-Know-Who wholeheartedly, assuming, of course, that we actually have hearts, in his worthy endeavors to eradicate scum whose bloodlines aren't as pure as ours, because blood doesn't look the same as blood no matter whose veins it's gushing like a fountain from, and once Bella graduates, she'll join the Death Eaters, so that she can torture, murder, and terrorize her inferiors. Soon, Cissy can do the same alongside her darling beau, Lucius Malfoy." He issued a snort reminiscent of a boiling pot letting out steam, and then brooded, "The only decent family member I have is my cousin Andromeda, for she was clever enough to stay out of the Death Eater training camp, and go to Ravenclaw, instead, and she sees that there is more to a person than their blood, which is why she's dating the Muggleborn Hufflepuff, Ted Tonks. Oh, I do hope that they get married, so that I can scandalize everyone by being the only Black, besides Andromeda, to attend."

"And so you can get drunk off her wine, and devour all her wedding cake," chortled James, and Remus smiled slightly, thinking that a person truly needed more friends than just Marlene.

"That too," Sirius allowed, beaming. Looking at Remus, he commented, "You know, I wouldn't mind moving to America, because they say that American teenagers throw the wildest parties in the world."

"They aren't permitted to consume alcohol if they're underage," argued Remus, "so how could that possibly be so?"

"Honestly, Remus, just because you adhere to the rules always, that doesn't apply to everybody else," Sirius scoffed. "Most people, especially us teens, break and push the restrictions that govern their lives, and, so, American youths are addicted to the drink even more than we are, because it has the glamour of being prohibited, and frowned upon by society. Besides, the fear of getting caught makes them splurge when they can, so when they do party, they throw all restraint to the winds. I could fit into such an atmosphere."

"I'm sure Chet did." A grin tugged up the edges of Remus' mouth, and he pictured his kinsman dancing to the radio music with a horde of adolescents surrounding him, chuckling and dancing with him, a glass of beer—cold beer, because that was the American custom, after all, as peculiar as it was—in his hand, just like it was in the hands of his comrades, comfortable in the student hang-out and hide-out, and unafraid of the notion of being caught in the midst of an illegal activity. Doubtlessly, Chet would be happy in the United States, and Remus was more than content here at Hogwarts, meaning that everything had worked out wonderfully in the end for the pair of them, and, in the final analysis, that was surely all that was worth anything. "I'll wager that he's made loads of friends there."

"Just as you've made friends here," James noted. "The four of us will be best friends forever—no matter what happens. We'll always be loyal to each other, and we'll perish in anguish before we betray each other, because that's what friendship is all about."

"It's also about horsing around, teasing each other, and that sort of stuff," Sirius reminded him, impatient with his somberness.

"True." James bobbed his head in affirmation. "So, we'll all just spit on our right hands, and pile them on top of each other while we solemnly swear that we'll be best mates forever, until the crack of doom, and nothing could ever come between us."

Obediently, the others nodded, and, feeling quite foolish, Remus spat in his palm along with his

his companions. Then, he tucked his hand onto the mound with the rest, and all feelings of

idiocy faded, for he was overcome with the solemnity of the oath, of the pledge that bound him him, for better or for worse, with the fate of these three individuals, and a shiver of excitement coiled up and down his spine

Once the oath had been recited, the mountain of hands divided, and James stated, "If we're to be a group of friends, then we'll need a decent name for ourselves, I reckon."

"The Four Musketeers?" Peter faltered.

"That's too cliche." James waved a dismissive hand. "Any less half-brained suggestions, anybody?"

"What about the Pirates?" asked Sirius, popping a Chocolate Frog into his mouth, and cursing when he saw that the card was Agrippa, whom he already had seven of, apparently.

"You might be onto something." James ignored his comrade's swearing, as he took a swig of his butterbeer. "Why don't we call ourselves the Marauders, since it means the same thing as 'pirate', but it sounds cooler, and more original."

Everybody agreed that was the most brilliant idea since the development of wands, and Remus' excitement mounted. Oh, it was an indescribably satisfying sensation to know that, not only did he possess more than one steadfast companion, he also belonged to an exclusive gang, complete with its own secret name, handshake, and everything. Nothing could ever be more magnificent than this powerful sense of homecoming, of belonging for once in his life, he was confident, and, as long as his life endured, he would never forget this exhilarating moment, this special wrinkle in time, this gorgeous waterfall in the steady stream of life. He would store it safely away in his memory, and utilize it later to derive strength, courage, and hope from, just as he did with the times he spent with Marlene. Now, all he had to do was never destroy the bonds he had just forged, which meant that he would have to be careful never to displease his new friends.

Author's Notes: I think the Marauders may have chosen their group name before they became Animagi, because, after all, it is a fairly widespread teenage practice to name your circle of friends, and I can definitely see how James and Sirius would have deemed it cool to do so. Also, the group name is more tied to the fact that they liked to roam the school at night under James' Invisibility Cloak and enjoyed getting into trouble than it is to their Animgai forms. However, I don't believe that the Marauders would have employed their individual nicknames of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs before James, Sirius, and Peter became Animagi in their fifth year, simply because these nicknames are essentially dependent upon the Animgi forms they assume, and so they wouldn't make sense prior to that, in my opinion, which is why I won't use those nicknames until they can all transform.

I believe that James was quite pampered as a child, since JKR stated in an interview that James was born rather late to his parents, and in Book Seven she describes him as "having the air of being well cared for, even _adored_, that Snape so conspicuously lacked." (Emphasis mine.) Therefore, it seems apparent to me that he was a tad bit spoiled.

To me, it is possible that Sirius may have been mistreated as a child. After all, many pureblood parents, like Mr. Crouch, really are pretty cruel to their children, and the hatred Sirius harbors for his family indicates that abuse is a possibility. Besides, the movie version of Lucius Malfoy does cement the mental image of a cane-bearing father in mind, although I don't believe that Lucius would ever beat his son, because of the way he conducts himself in Book Seven. (He is anxious about finding Draco in the castle, and he doesn't care about fighting like the rest of the Death Eaters, which suggests that Draco amounts to more in his eyes than serving Voldemort does.) Sure, none of this constitutes actual proof, but I deal in possibilities and probabilities when I write a fanfic, so that's the way it is. If you want the absolute facts, stick to the _Harry Potter_ series themselves.


	13. Chapter 13

Reviews: Reviews motivate me to write faster, so if you have the time, please don't hesitate to submit one

Reviews: Reviews motivate me to write faster, so if you have the time, please don't hesitate to submit one. I really appreciate it, because reviews give me insight into what my readers are thinking, and that's important, because I'm posting on here so that I can get feedback to hone my writing skills. (AP English doesn't really do that, since it revolves more around essay writing, which is different, although I can do that really well.) I promise that I'll respond if you take the time to review my work.

Disclaimer: If you believe that I'm J.K. Rowling, please contact Dr. Phil, so that your patient right to privacy can be violated on television so all can see, and so that he can just nod, and say "Yeah, you should see a professional."

Author's Note: This is my back to school special, because today I went back to school again. (My schedule is pretty good, and I don't have nearly as much homework as I did on the first day of school last year, which might be an auspicious omen.) For those of you who are wondering, that means that updates probably will occur less frequently, owing to my workload, and college application pressure out my every orifice, however if you review, I might be motivated to update sooner, because I have an ego.

Quidditch Trials and Potions Tests

"Life sucks," complained James Potter, as he, Remus, Sirius, and Peter settled themselves on the floor of the Gryffindor common room by the roaring fire, where it was warm, something that was appreciated now that there was a definite chill to the brisk, crisp autumn days, to do their homework on a Tuesday evening in mid-October.

"Is there any particular reason why you felt compelled to make such a depressed assertion, or are you just channeling Remus, the perpetual pessimist?" Sirius inquired, flipping disinterestedly through his Transfiguration textbook, and demonstrating his complete lack of motivation to finish, or even start, for that matter, his essay for the aforementioned subject. "This is the dumbest idea anyone, including Peter, has ever come up with― writing papers. I mean, I already know how to perform these spells. I accomplished it in class, so why must I waste so much parchment writing about the theory, when I already know about the practice?"

"You may know the practice without the theory behind it now," reasoned Remus absently, as he scribbled the conclusion of his Transfiguration essay, which was due the following day, suppressing his jealousy at the fact that James and Sirius studied far less than he did but still managed to attain scores as excellent or better than his on practical Transfiguration work, although their written achievements were far less spectacular. "However, eventually, the coursework will probably become so difficult that even you and James will have to learn the theory before you can ever hope to accomplish the goal in practice. As such, it would be advantageous for you to learn the basic theory now, so you'll have a foundation on which to comprehend more complex magical theory later."

"Thanks, Professor Lupin the Perpetual Pessimist," teased Sirius, and Peter, who had been wearing a bemused expression as he attempted to understand the Transfiguration chapter he was reading, since neither theoretical nor practical magic came naturally, or at all, to him, laughed obediently, as he always did whenever James or Sirius jested. However, James didn't brighten. Instead, he continued to stare darkly into the depths of the blazing red-orange flames before them.

"I'm not a pessimist," mumbled Remus in a feeble defense, embarrassed by the fun Sirius and Peter were enjoying at his expense. "I'm a realist, that's all."

Before Sirius could reply, James, who seemed to have ignored their exchange entirely as he sought wisdom from the cackling fire, asked vaguely, "Did any of you happen to read the notice board today?"

"No," Sirius answered for all of them, shaking his head, and causing a comma of raven-colored hair to flop onto his forehead, where he permitted it to remain, doubtlessly, because it contributed an appropriate careless element to his handsome appearance. "I don't look at it for the same reason I refuse to subscribe to a newspaper, because knowing just how messed up the world is just upsets when I can't do anything to change what's going on yet, and, so, therefore, no news is good news."

"I had to check the bulletin board, because I want to try out for the Quidditch team," explained James, his tone less absent, while Remus completed his Transfiguration assignment, and took out his Potions textbook, so he could study for the practical Potions exam they had tomorrow. "Anyway, trials are Friday evening at six o'clock."

"What is the problem with that?" Peter frowned, his forehead knitting as it typically did when he strove for deep or logical thought.

"Wow, Peter, it's obvious that Ravenclaw lost a genius when you were made a Gryffindor, that's for sure," noted James sardonically. "As those of us with more than two semi-functioning brain cells are aware, Sirius and I have detention at that same time as a penalty for sneaking out in the middle of the night under my Invisibility Cloak and affixing Drooble's Best Blowing Gum to all the telescope lenses. How were we supposed to know that Filch would have Dumbledore trace the fingerprints on the gum? Thank God, though, nobody knows about the Cloak yet, because it would be three times harder to make mischief if we couldn't rely upon that wild card up our sleeves."

"Maybe you can postpone your detention by agreeing to do two of them, or something," suggested Sirius, as Remus struggled to focus on his review of the three potions from which Slughorn would pick to test them upon the following morning. "We can use our bewitched mirrors to communicate, like we always do when they separate us, so it won't be that much different than usual, after all."

"Is eleven your age or your IQ?" James fixed a wilting look upon his best mate."We're serving detention with Flich, who's making us clean Moaning Myrtle's bathroom with toothbrushes because supposedly that'll teach us not to desecrate our school, although all it will teach me is to utilize magic to tidy up a restroom, not a toothbrush, and he wouldn't let me off of detention even if I offered to serve fifty more in its stead. He's the sort of scrooge that would force his own mother to sign a requisition form for water if she were dying of thirst, for Christ's sake."

"Yeah, well, trust you to bring up IQs, because we all know it's the largest word you can spell," retorted Sirius, although he, apparently, had found no grounds on which to dispute the body of the other's case, for he made no further contradictions, leaving James with no recourse but to return the insult to his intelligence.

"And the only way you'd get an IQ score of eleven is if you took the test twice, and added the scores together," James returned heatedly.

"Whereas if you received an IQ of eleven, you'd have to grow one more finger, just so you could count the correct number," rejoined Sirius.

At this juncture, Remus got exasperated with attempting to study through the squabble that was raging around him, and glanced up from his book. "James," he commented, "I'm sorry you won't be able to play on the team, but they're will be six other years, remember."

"I know they're will be six other years that I can be a member of the team," grumped James, who seemed determined to be as gloomy and peevish as possible, "but I wanted to make the team this year, so that I could be the only first-year to play on a House team in about sixty years. Now, that's a record worth breaking, if you ask me."

"It's a pity that you won't be able to shatter that record, but you'll break others on the Quidditch pitch throughout your career here," Remus reassured him. More pragmatically, he added, "Besides, as you already pointed out so eloquently, you can't do anything to change the circumstances surrounding your inability to attend the trials, so you may as well accept the fact that you can't, and move on. Now, I'll tell you something that you can do."

"What's that?" James arched his eyebrows at him, obviously torn between interest and impatience.

"You can help me study for the Potions exam tomorrow." As he established as much, Remus proffered his text to the other lad.

"Why should I bother doing that?" mumbled James, turning dispiritedly to the pages in the tome that Remus had marked for studying. "You already know how to concoct all three of these potions, so why do you need to go over them again, anyhow?"

"I still have trouble creating the Babbling Beverage," Remus contested, barely managing to catch the textbook as James tossed it back, aiming for his skull. "Every time I get to step ten, the potion refuses to turn the correct sheen."

"Oh, no, then you'll only get a ninety-five out of one hundred on the test, and wouldn't that be a shame?" James smirked.

Ceding the fact that James was as likely as Snape to aid him in preparing for tomorrow's exam, Remus focused his attention on Sirius, instead. "Would you care to help me?" he asked, holding out the Potions book. "It'll assist you in reviewing, as well, after all."

"I don't need to study that codswallop," Sirius replied, as he finally began penning his Transfiguration essay with a revolted expression on his face, as though the parchment he was writing on had been vomited by some stranger. "I already know most of it, and what I don't know, I'll make up on the fly. Even if I didn't know anything about what we're going to be tested upon tomorrow, I wouldn't be afraid of failing, because Slughorn adores me, so he wouldn't give me anything less than a passing mark, most likely a high one at that. Speaking of which, Slughorn is fond of you, too, so why are you fretting?"

"Because I want to do really well, not just adequately, and I want to do well in a fair manner, not because I'm a teacher's pet," explained Remus, scratching his nose, as he scanned over the directions to concoct the Babbling Beverage, and concluded that reviewing in this fashion was futile. After all, when he had last made the Babbling Beverage, he had followed these instructions exactly, and they hadn't done him any good when he reached step ten, and it wouldn't be of any service tomorrow either. Exasperated, he threw down his book, which skidded across the floor, stopping only when it smacked into James' shoe, and grumbled, "Forget it. No matter how many times I look over this, it won't be of any help. I already have it hammered into my head, and it won't work for me."

"Go and see Slughorn, then," suggested James, kicking Remus' textbook back to him. "He'll be happy to help one of his little princes."

"There's only fifteen minutes remaining until curfew," Remus responded. "I can't get down there, speak to him, and make it back here in that amount of time, and I don't want to be caught out after curfew."

"Gosh, Peter's stupidity must be contagious, because you and Sirius have both caught it," stated James, twisting Sirius' Transfiguration paper so that it was tilted in a manner that allowed him to read it, so he could borrow some of his best mate's ideas. "You can ask for a pass, and he'll give it to you. He doesn't like turning down the requests of any of his pets, and who could refuse an innocent one like that?"

"True, but even if I did go it would be pointless, because he'll only repeat what's in the textbook, then laugh, and announce that he'll do me a favor, and pick a different potion to quiz us on, and that's not what I want to happen." Remus shook his head, after a moment's consideration.

"Well, if all you're going to do is complain, shut up," Sirius commanded, snatching his homework back from James. To the boy who had attempted to steal his work, he added, "Potter, if you want to copy my work, then you'd better let me have access to that Charms paper you wrote."

Remus did not hear James' retort, because his attention was diverted when the portrait hole opened, and Lily and her closest Gryffindor companion, Alice Wright, entered the common room, returning from the library if the literature piled in their arms were any indicators. Lily's arrival prompted a brilliant solution to form in Remus' mind. Although Slughorn would not be able to assist him, because he followed Jigger's recipe, Lily might be capable of aiding him, since her Potions assignments always ended up perfectly, and she would possibly be willing to offer him advice or alternative directions to get past step ten of the Babbling Potion.

"Excuse me," he excused himself from his comrades, shoving himself to his feet, and grabbing his quill, and a scroll of parchment. "Slughorn might not be able to assist me, but I know somebody who can."

Without waiting for a reply, he crossed the room, striding over to Alice and Lily, who were heading over to one of the spindly tables in the corner of the common room. "Hi, Alice, and Lily," he greeted them, as he joined them.

"Hey, Remus," the two girls answered in one voice, displaying the tendency of simultaneous speech that was the trademark of best buddies around the globe.

"Lily, would you be willing to help me study for the Potions exam we have tomorrow?" he asked, once the pleasantries were complete, figuring that he wouldn't hold her up anymore than he had to. After all, she probably would rather spend her time with Alice than she would with him, and then he could return to James, Sirius, and Peter before James murdered him for being with his crush for such a long time.

For a moment, Lily faltered, gazing guiltily at her friend. "I'd be happy to help you, but I promised Alice that I'd play chess with her once we were done with our homework, and―"

"Oh, don't worry about it, Lil," Alice interjected, her round face as cheery as always. "Marlene, Mary, and Sharon are almost finished with their Exploding Snap game. Maybe they'll deal me in for the next round. Yeah, I'll play cards with them while you and Remus study together. Personally, I think I've got the better end of the arrangement, because after I'll that studying, I couldn't bear to crack another book. Well, bye. Good luck to you both."

With a final smile and wave, Alice sailed over to sit beside Sharon Gray on the sofa across from Marlene and Mary Macdonald. Lily's eyes trailed her, obviously ascertaining that she would indeed be fine, but she seemed reassured when she spotted the warm reception Alice received when she plopped down next to Sharon.

"Right, that's settled, then," observed Lily briskly. She dumped her books on the table, and slipped into a chair. As Remus situated himself across from her, she inquired, "So, what would you like my help on, anyway?"

"The Babbling Potion," he confessed. "I can't figure out how to make the potion turn the correct shade once I get to step ten, and I've no notion of why that is, since I'm doing everything Jigger directs, so, I thought that maybe you could explain to me what I ought to do."

The last clause emerged from his lips as a mumble, because he was now convinced that he was requesting that she cheat for him, and that was not something he would want to do, even if it wasn't against school rules. Luckily, she didn't seem to perceive it as such, or if she did, she didn't care, for she declared with a grin, "I'll do more than that. I'll show you how to create a Babbling Beverage that is as great or better than Jigger's, and can be concocted in less time."

"Thanks." Remus smiled shyly at her. It was odd to be the tutored, instead of the tutor, but she didn't make him feel dumb or ignorant with her kindness and eagerness to aid him.

"It's nothing," she assured him. "Now, for step one, follow all of Jigger's instructions, but remember to add a sprig of holly."

"A sprig of holly," repeated Remus, as he copied what she said on his piece of parchment, so that he would be able to look over it again before Potions lesson tomorrow. "Got that."

"For step two, do exactly as Jigger says," she went on, as Remus' quill scratched away wildly to record her every word. "As for step three, replace the bicorn hair with the same measure of unicorn hair, because it heightens the effects of the potion, as unicorn hair is far more potent than bicorn hair is. When you get step four..."

Her explanation of what to do at step four was chopped off abruptly when an explosion rocked through the common room. Glancing up from his note-taking in alarm at the sudden noise that had engulfed the chamber, Remus discovered that, apparently, James and Sirius were unable to continue to do their homework assignments for such a lengthy stretch of time. Therefore, they had elected to steal a textbook from a pimply second-year boy with legs and arms that were thinner than popsicle sticks, and, as such, couldn't combat them effectively, and had attached a Fillibuster Firework to its spine.

"Those two are proof that infanticide should be legal in England," Lily sighed, as the whole common room, she and Remus included, gaped at the _Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration_ that was whizzing about, shooting off the stone walls, and emitting vivid sparkles in all the hues on the color wheel, before finally crashing into a window, breaking it, and soaring out onto the grounds. A vast majority of the Gryffindors clustered in the room chuckled, and applauded, jokingly demanding an encore, but Lily merely glowered.

"They aren't that bad," Remus feebly strove to defend James and Sirius, but she wouldn't accept his plea on their behalf.

"If they were any worse, I'd insist on a House transfer." Lily shook her head distastefully, as the scrawny lad whose textbook had been ruined beyond even magical repair by James and Sirius, who were chortling uproariously in their positions by the fireplace, tentatively approached the older boys, knowing that although he was older than they were, they were not social outcasts like he was, and demanded in a quavering tone that they pay recompense for his damaged property. However, Sirius flatly refused to pay up, and James ruled that only way he would give the second-year cash was if he promised to employ it to find a decent pimple remover, or, that failing, a mask to conceal his ugly face behind. "Oh, I can't tolerate them! They're so immature. I mean, that poor boy probably realizes that he has acne, and feels awful about it. They don't have to go and rub his nose in the fact, and make him even less self-confident. Why the heck must they dim somebody else's flame to increase the light of their own, huh?"

"And why on earth does a friendly, quiet, studious boy like you hang out with them, Remus?" she added more mildly, before he could respond to her previous grievances.

"They're my friends," he shrugged, providing the simple reason for his behavior.

"I know that," she growled. "For your information, I have more wit than a speck of dirt. I was wondering why in the world you'd choose to be friends with them, actually." As he opened his mouth to reply, she raised a hand to curtail him. "Listen, you don't have to hang out with them. There are other people you could be buddies with, instead."

"Yeah, Jeffrey and I really would have hit it off, if his mum hadn't been murdered by Death Eaters a week ago, and his dad hadn't decided to home school him, instead, because, clearly Jeffrey's father is loads better at defensive magic than Dumbledore is," agreed Remus with more than a trace of sarcasm.

"You could be friends with guys from other Houses, and you've got Marlene, who's a really nice girl," persisted Lily, pretending not to notice his attitude.

"Yes, I have Marlene, and I'll never let her go, but now I also have James, Sirius, and Peter to hang around with, as well," Remus informed her. "Don't judge James and Sirius so harshly, since they are pretty good blokes."

"Blackhole made Snape's teeth into fangs in the corridor yesterday, and Pothead hexed Snape with such a horrible rash on Friday that he still has the marks of it on his wrists." Lily's emerald eyes narrowed menacingly. "How is that good, Lupin?"

Remus flinched, because she hadn't ever addressed him by his surname before, and now was not the time he wished for her to commence doing so, since he really needed her assistance with Potions, but he couldn't permit her to maintain such a one-dimensional interpretation of the scenes she referred to, either. After all, James and Sirius were his mates, and he was obliged to defend them. Sure, they had been wrong to curse Snape, as that was puerile and against school regulations, but there had been mitigating circumstances...

"Sirius cursed Snape, because Snape hexed Peter, and James attacked Snape, because Snape chose to levitate him in another corridor on Thursday," he reminded her, his voice more arctic than he had planned it to be. However, he was unable to correct himself, as words continued toppling out of his mouth, "Convince your buddy Snape to stop hexing James and his friends, and they'll stop cursing him and his gang of junior Death Eaters."

"Don't accuse Sev of being a Death Eater in training," hissed Lily, her eyes sizzling. "He's not any such thing, you know, and the only reason you dare to say such a hateful thing is because you disliked him from the moment you two met on the train, and he showed you all the places where Jigger was incorrect!"

"All right, chill out, and tell me what to do when I get to step four," Remus capitulated, upraising his hands in a gesture of his complete surrender.

Unfortunately for him, Lily was too incensed to listen to anything that came out of his mouth, and ranted on, "I suppose it never entered your mind that he was perfectly kind to me, even though I am a Muggleborn, and Death Eaters are supposed to dream of murdering those of us with impure blood. You don't know anything about what he's endured, so how dare you pass judgment upon him! You don't know how poor his family was, how his father verbally abused him and his mum every time he had too much to drink, which was often, how his dad would throw whiskey bottles at them when he got furious, how his dad's beer belly swallowed all the money that either of his parents earned, or how the neighborhood kids used to laugh until their faces turned blue when they saw him in his horrid old hand-me-downs. You can't understand how much he just wanted to escape all that, and couldn't wait to find refuge at Hogwarts, away from the broken bottles, the shouts, and the mockery. If he is a little messed up because of that, it's not his fault, since it's to be expected in conditions like those, and he could be a whole lot worse. After all, he's never hurt me or anything!"

Remus decided not to mention that the only reason that Snape was polite to Lily was because the other boy was attracted to her, since he understood that it would serve only to add fuel to the fire that was already blazing inside her with enough fury to heat the entire castle and the village of Hogsmeade to boot. In fact, he didn't even have the opportunity to insert a sentence in edgewise, because Lily finished dramatically, "I won't help you if you're going to be mean about Sev, as he contributed many ideas to my modifications of Jigger's recipe, and you certainly aren't worthy of his aid when you say such nasty things about him."

In a wink of an eye, before Remus could fling out a hand to halt her movements, she had snatched up his parchment, shredded it, and flung the pieces towards the fire, which she missed, due to distance and tears of ire that obscured her vision.

"Figure out how to get a perfect score on your Potions test all by yourself," she barked at him, launching herself out of her seat, and stalking over to the other four Gryffindor first-year girls. "I'm going to play chess with Alice, and don't bother me again this evening, unless you want me to prove that I can hex as well as any of your dumb friends, even if I'm not an arrogant toerag who loves showing off."

"Well, that was a blast," murmured Remus, watching as Lily grasped Alice's wrist, and dragged her over to play chess at another table. "However, Exploding Snap would be a more apt choice, given your mood."

Once Lily was safely away from Marlene, Remus hurried over to sit beside her, not ready to return to the Marauders after that humiliating scene he was sure the whole common room could hear.

"It's the end of the round, isn't it?" he asked Marlene, Mary, and Sharon as he settled onto the sofa to Marlene's left.

"It is now that Alice has departed, yes." Sharon nodded her head affirmatively.

"Marvelous," pronounced Remus, and Marlene arched her eyebrows at him, clearly questioning whether she should contact St. Mungo's mental health division on her friend's behalf, or not. "The four of us can have a tournament, then. Now, for the semi-finals, we'll have two games, where Mary and Sharon versus each other, and Marlene and I versus each other. Whoever wins goes onto the finals, and whoever emerges the victor from that game is the uncontested champion. What do you say?"

The three girls shrugged in assent, and Sharon pulled a deck of cards out of her robes, so that she and Mary could play with that set, while Marlene and Remus employed the other deck.

"I gather that this is all a ruse so you can chat with me alone," noted Marlene, as she shuffled the cards. Once she had done so to her satisfaction, she proffered them, ordering, "Cut."

"I wanted to make sure that you knew that Quidditch try-outs were on Friday at six o'clock," he educated her.

"I imagine that it might come as a major shock to you, but I can read the notices as well as you can." Marlene rolled her eyes in exasperation as she dealt the cards. "As such, yep, I do know that the trials are on Friday, but thanks for treating me like an illiterate idiot."

"You're most welcome," he answered primly, choosing to deliberately ignore the irony flooding her tone like a hurricane while he checked his cards, and saw that he had a decent hand. "By the way, I'll be there in the stands, cheering you on."

"That's charming, but I'm not sure I'll be attending, after all." Marlene bit her lip, as she admitted as much.

"What?" Like a startled deer, Remus gawked at her. "You've got to go, or else you won't make the team, and that's what you've always dreamed of doing!"

"Yes, I've always dreamed of being a member of my House Quidditch team, but you know as well as I do that there's a difference between dreams and reality," she sighed. "I've never flown in front of so many people, and I'm afraid that I'll screw up, and, besides, there will be older teenagers there, and they'll doubtlessly be better than me even if I don't panic, and am able to fly well, so it would be stupid of me to waste the time in attending."

"Aren't you the one who told me that I shouldn't fret about being thought a fool, or worry about what anyone else believes of me, as long as I'm content with who I am and what I'm doing?" Remus folded his arms across his chest. "Aren't you the one who convinced me that I should chase after my dreams, because I could achieve them?"

"Yes." A trace of a reluctant grin split across her features as she made this concession.

"Well, then I ask that you follow your own advice."

"It's easier said than done."

"Tough luck." Remus waved a threatening finger at her. "I'll be at the trials on Friday night at six o'clock sharp, and I expect to see you there. If you aren't there, I'll make you wish you were never born."

"Okay, I'll be there, too." After a moment's pause, Marlene nodded. "So, tell me, what's the real reason you came over here, besides to pester me?"

"I didn't feel like going back to the rest of my gang after that scene with Lily," Remus replied. "James and Sirius would tease me if I returned to them straight afterward, but if I play cards with you for awhile first, then they'll find something else they can poke fun at by the time I return to them."

"Machiavelli has nothing on you," chuckled Marlene, "although I'm not certain I like being used by you."

"I'm not using you," he reassured her at once, even though he was almost one-hundred percent confident that she was joking, since he really did not want two girls to shriek at him in the middle of the common room in a single evening. "I really do love hanging out with you."

"Call me an idiot, but I believe you." Marlene smiled at him, and then posed an odd inquiry. "Hey, is James Potter attending the trials? I heard he's a Quidditch nut."

"Yeah, he is a Quidditch nut, but he's not going to the try-outs, because he's in detention with Filch that evening."

"Oh, maybe I ought to see if I can steal some poisons from Potions tomorrow, so that he can commit suicide before Filch murders him in a far more agonizing fashion." Marlene grimaced, displaying her sympathy for James' predicament, and then mused, "Hmm, it might be beneficial to me, if he doesn't show up, though, since he's so handsome and hilarious that I am a lot more clumsy and clammy in his presence, and those are not idyllic Quidditch trial conditions for me."

Remus was amazed at the impact her description of James had upon him. Blazing scarlet abruptly blared inside him, so that his brain was nothing but a splotch of crimson, his heart was beating at three times its typical rate, his stomach clenched like a balled fist, and for the first time in his life, he understood that the expression seeing red was not metaphoric or in anyway symbolic, but purely literal.

Not wishing for her to spot the incredible physiological anomalies that were wrecking havoc upon him, Remus labored to slow his pounding heart, and, once he had accomplished that, the tinge of crimson that had been clouding his vision dissipated, and he was able to think more rationally. _What the heck happened to me?_ he wondered.

It was a moment before he realized that he had been envious of James Potter, or so his biological responses would imply, yet he could not comprehend, or wouldn't permit himself to comprehend why in the world that should be the case. After all, he liked Marlene, yes, but only in a platonic, non-romantic fashion. They were just friends― the very best of friends― as they had always been, ever since her family had visited his house for supper, and he had been shunted off with the task of entertaining her, and had discovered that she was far more of an entertainer than he would ever be. Yet, he seemed to have missed so much in her. For instance, he had never noticed just how charismatic her eyes were when they danced and sparkled in the candlelight and the firelight. He had never truly seen how many colors, from the hue of dying leaves in autumn to the vibrant shade of fresh fall apples, glittered in her hair. He had ignored the way her sharp, angular face revealed her inner nature.

Suddenly, he couldn't escape the overwhelming sensation that he had never really known his best friend at all. Obviously, she had many more secrets that she could share with him, and he wanted nothing more than to learn them. He, not James, had to know everything about her. He, not James, had to be the closest human being to her. He, not James, had to possess her. It was as simplistic, and as complicated, as that. She had to be his…but, first, the James problem must be dealt with.

"James is attracted to Lily, not you," Remus educated her, his jealousy of James making him lose his tact. It was only after the words had burst out of his mouth that he realized that they might wound Marlene. Luckily, this was not news to Marlene, for she only shrugged.

"Yep, he is crushing on her now, but boys have the attention spans of particularly stupid goldfish, especially when females are factored into the equation, so that's not going to be so forever," Marlene dismissed his argument brusquely. "In fact, I doubt Lily will be able to maintain his interest for long. I mean, I think she is really nice and all, but she plays too hard to get with James, if you ask me. After all, a guy can only take so much rejection and heartbreak before he has to focus on somebody new, somebody that he can see will return his affections. You see, people can only tolerate so much of being denied what they desire, before they have to go after something else as a survival mechanism. Men, because their egos are more fragile than women's are, have to do so sooner, since they are more sensitive to rejection and stuff."

"You know more about male psychology than I do," observed Remus, offering her a quarter-moon shaped grin.

"And you probably know more about female anatomy than I do," grinned Marlene. When he stared, mouth agape at her, she giggled. "Come now, admit it that guys chat about girl bodies the way girls gossip about what guys think, assuming, of course, that boys actually do that."

"Maybe James and Sirius talk about dirty stuff like that, but I sure don't." Remus blushed, and stared at his shoes, discomfited to be speaking of such things with her, especially because he was now beginning to consider her in an erotic fashion, which was in itself highly humiliating, because he knew that she was in love with James, not him, although he would change that. Marlene was his, and nobody else's, and that was it. "And I won't let anyone talk about you like that."

_Especially because I'm the only one who's allowed to think of you like that,_ he completed his statement mentally.

"You're like the older brother I never had." Marlene shook her head mockingly. Beaming, she added, "I won."

"As usual. I'm going to go sit with James, Sirius, and Peter for awhile." Remus pushed himself to his feet, waved at her, and shuffled off, complaining to himself, _I'm like a brother to her―Merlin, I could have gone all month without hearing her establish that. _

After that, when he returned to his congregation of Marauders by the fireside, he discovered that his mind was too troubled by the sequence of events that had occurred inside him throughout his conversation with Marlene to study Potions. However, fortunately, tomorrow's test was not on the Babbling Potion, which meant that Remus was able to attain full marks, to the aggravation of both Lily and Severus.

Marlene was not so lucky, for on Friday, she panicked at the trials, because it was obvious that nobody expected anything from a first-year, and many of the older pupils jeered at her during her try-out with the net result that she lost her focus, which in turn meant that she dropped the Quaffle on several occasions, and fumbled a handful of easy shots on goal. Even she wasn't surprised when she didn't make the team, although she was upset, and frustrated.

"Don't worry about it, Marlene," Mary consoled her, as both Mary and Remus climbed down from the stands onto the pitch to comfort Marlene. "It was all the fault of those juvenile upperclassman. If they hadn't been taunting you, you would have done loads better, and you'd have made the team. There's no doubt about that, I swear."

"Be reasonable, Mary," snapped Marlene, her lapis lazuli eyes moist, "if I can't ignore the catcalls from them, then I don't deserve to be on the team. After all, the comments from the Slytherins will be a million times worth, so if I'm not tough enough to withstand these, I'd go to pieces in a match against them. I've got to learn to ignore them, so that next year I can make the cut."

"You will." This time it was Remus who reassured her. "You're really good, and, as long as you maintain in control, there's no way on earth that the captain won't be able to see it, unless he's blind, or someone ties a blindfold around his head."

"Thanks." Marlene forced herself to smile, although she still had a tautness about her face that suggested that she was disappointed with her performance, and, because she seemed so depressed, it suddenly occurred to the id in Remus that she needed to be consoled, and that if words had failed, perhaps actions would succeed. After all, didn't actions speak louder than words?

So, before he had time to second guess himself, before he had time to even become conscious of what he was doing, he leaned forward, and kissed her smack on the lips. He didn't care that he was doing it in broad daylight in the center of a teeming Quidditch pitch with her best mate looking on in astonishment. He didn't care that she might not want him to kiss her, because she probably didn't share his feelings. He didn't care, because he wasn't thinking at all.

He had barely brushed his lips against hers, though, before she shoved him off her, not in a hard manner, but none to gently, either. Waving at Mary, she snatched his elbow, and yanked him off to the sides of the pitch where they could confer privately.

"What the heck did you just do that for?" she gritted, as soon as they were alone.

"Sorry," he stammered. "I couldn't help myself."

"Well, from now on, do," she snapped. Perhaps realizing how harsh she sounded, she relented, "Look, Remus, I'm so flattered that you care about me like that, and all, but I just― just―don't return your affections. I want to be friends with you, but just friends. Not lovers, not friends with benefits. Just best friends. I don't mean to hurt you, because I do love you, probably more than I will ever actually love the people I'll crush on throughout my years here, but I don't have a romantic attraction to you. If I did, I'd go out with you."

"I understand," he mumbled, wishing he had never kissed her. He would have to learn how to control himself better around her, he recognized dimly, or else she would lose her, since nobody wished to hang around with someone who they were always afraid would make a move on them when they didn't want that to happen. "I'm sorry. I won't do it again, I promise. Can―can we still be friends?"

"Of course." She grinned at him, and most of the awkwardness between the pair of them evaporated. "We'll be best friends forever no matter what, just like we promised. In fact, it's probably a good thing that we aren't going to date each other, because then we would have to break up in the end, and we might lose our friendship, if that happened. I wouldn't want to lose you. I don't think I could bear that."

"I couldn't bear losing you, either," he agreed in a whisper, shuddering at the thought of such an occurrence. Never being able to date her, was bad enough, but losing her was the worst thing he could imagine. He couldn't imagine trying to live without her fierce wit, her determination, her courage, and even her idealism. Without her, he would be hollow, and that would not be a pleasant state to be locked in permanently, but it would be what would happen to him if he lost her. 


	14. Chapter 14

Chaos and Choosing Courses

"Peter, and Remus, be sure to pay extra careful attention in Transfiguration," instructed second-year James Potter through a mouthful of kipper at breakfast on the last early April day before Easter vacation commenced.

"I always am attentive in every class," Remus educated him somewhat stiffly between nibbles of bacon.

"Yeah, it's you who has drawings of Evans and her initials entwined with yours all over your notes," snickered Sirius, as he devoured his bowl of porridge with all the enthusiasm of a ravenous canine.

"At least I _have _notes, even if they are disorganized, and incomplete," James retorted, trying to conceal his flush as he sipped his pumpkin juice, referring to the fact that his best mate was renowned for not even bothering to show up for lessons with a quill and roll of parchment, because he contended that if a piece of data was truly relevant, he would recall it without having to scribble it down, and if it wasn't important, then there was no reason to record it in the first place.

Before Sirius could answer, however, Peter, biting his fingernails in one of his characteristic nervous habits, cut in, "I can't take notes, either. Every time I go to Transfiguraiton, I want to, but before I know it, I am all confused, but I'm petrified of asking McGonagall for help, since she's so intimidating. So, once I'm bewildered, I lose interest, and I start staring out the window, instead. Then, she always catches me, and suggests that my bad grades would improve if I paid attention, but I just can't, because she's so confusing, which means it's her fault."

"It's not her fault," Sirius snorted. "She wasn't the one who gave you a brain first when they were passing them out alphabetically, which is why you've got an aardvark brain, and, therefore, can't learn like the rest of us."

Peter blushed, and Remus took pity upon him. "Why should we be extra alert in Transfiguration?" he inquired, attempting to distract Sirius from taunting the other lad.

"Oh, just reflect on Sirius and my last detention," shrugged James, "and that will provide you with a hint."

"That's the first and final tip you're receiving, too, because we want it to be a surprise," Sirius declared.

"Yep, we want it to be an Easter surprise for everybody." James nodded.

"It will be a better surprise than finding your Easter basket."

"And discovering fine homemade chocolates inside," finished James, completing his best friend's though as effortlessly as always.

"It's not much of a hint," Remus remarked, shaking his head, since he was, as he often was, in the presence of Sirius and James, the greatest pranksters Hogwarts had ever been invaded by in its thousand year history, split between amusement and exasperation. "I don't remember what you were assigned to last time you received detention, as you two scarcely go a day without being placed in another detention by some teacher or other."

"Then, you have even less of an excuse to forget what Sirius and I endured in our latest detention, if it took place so recently. Jeez, don't blame us for your short-term memory," responded James. The last word had barely sailed out of his mouth when the bell tolled, signaling that they had best swallow their final bites of breakfast, and hasten off to first period Transfiguration.

"Forget some of the twelve uses of dragon blood and hogwash like that, and you'll have more room for important statistics on your buddies," added Sirius. While he asserted as much, the four boys threw down their silverware, swung their bookbags over their shoulders, scraped back their benches as they rose, and trailed en masse like everyone else out of the Great Hall.

Within minutes, they had arrived inside the Transfiguration classroom. Having gleaned enough from his exchange with his two rebellious pals to perceive that they were preparing some exceptional practical joke, and not desiring Professor McGonagall to assume that he was enmeshed in the perpetration of the crime James and Sirius would in all likelihood be committing in the immediate future, he elected to seat himself beside a Ravenclaw named Sean McKinnion.

Sean's best mate, Conan Dooley, was out with dragon spots, which was a highly contagious resurgence in the form of a rash of the dragon pox that plagued those who had been stricken with mild cases of dragon pox that could arise at any timem as it was always present in the person's body once they had it, and so Sean was sitting alone.

"How is Conan faring?" Remus asked politely, as he slipped into the chair to the left of Sean.

"He claims that he doesn't feel ill most of the time, and that he'd love to be able to attend classes again," Sean updated him. "You see, he's bored up there in the hospital wing all day, and he is convinced that he is missing crucial stuff, although I'm letting him copy my notes, and telling him all our assignments, so he can complete them. Well, I'm certain that he'll be able to recover during break, and he'll return ready to work with the rest of us."

"I hope that he can rejoin classes soon," said Remus with more sincerity than most of peers would have displayed in this situation, because he recalled quite vividly what it was like laying on a lumpy cot in the hospital wing, recovering from his self-inflicted werewolf scratches and bites, explaining to the Marauders that he was afflicted with a rare ailment called spattergroit that could reappear in him randomly, but was not contagious, and borrowing notes from Marlene, who also was considerate enough to update him on the homework assignments he had missed for days on end.

He knew all about the gloomy listlessness that set in around mid-day, when everybody was attending lessons you wanted to go to, as well, and all you could do was lie there, staring at the ceiling, because you'd already finished your essays, and read all the books you had with you. Spending time alone in the sick ward was depressing. It reminded you that you were destined to die, and doomed to endure eternity alone in the silent darkness of the grave.

Fortunately, such morbid musings were removed from the forefront of his brain by the arrival of Professor McGonagall, who strode brusquely to the front of the classroom through the rows of double desks. By the time she had reached the area before the blackboard, and had pivoted to face them, her pupils had chopped off all their side-conversations, and riveted their attention upon her, instead, because they didn't wish to be put in detention, or receive lines on the last day before holiday.

Since all was quiet, Professor McGonagall immediately began lecturing the class upon elementary Switching Spells. After having everybody, except Sirius and Peter, copy down notes on the topic that she dictated, and wrote in a precise cursive on the blackboard, she directed them all to take out their _Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration,_ so that they could discuss the diagram on pages 587 and 588.

However, she had only just finished describing the process illustrated in the first segment of the diagram, when she noticed that somebody wasn't following along in his text, and she barked, "Potter, where is your textbook?"

"It's in my satchel, Professor," James informed her flippantly, not reaching into his bookbag to fetch it, as Remus would have done if he had ever been caught in such a circumstance.

"Then, why isn't it on your desk, where it belongs while we're reading out of it?" snapped Professor McGonagall.

"It's in my bag, because my mate Sirius has out his copy, and I can read his just fine from here." Beaming pertly, the second-year Gryffindor who had played Seeker fro the Gryffindor Quidditch team since that October, and had been instrumental in Gryffindor's victory over Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw in the November and March matches, pointed at his keen hazel eyes. "My Seeker vision permits me to accomplish feats impossible for most mortals couldn't hope to achieve, including seeing objects that are a great distance from me quite clearly."

"Well, if you don't wish to see ten points deducted from your next quiz, you'll remove your textbook from you satchel this instant, and put it on your desk, where it is currently supposed to be located," McGonagall warned frostily.

"You want me to take my book out of my bag, Professor?" echoed James in a tone that was too innocent to indicate anything but trouble in the very near future.

"Yes, Potter, and, for future reference, when I order the class as a while to do anything, I expect you, as a part of the aforementioned entity, to comply with my command without receiving your own personal invitation," growled Professor McGonagall, her eyes flashing beneath her spectacles. "Understood?"

"Sure, Professor. I'll take out my textbook right now." As he established as much, James bent over, zipped open the front pocket of his bookbag, and, unbelievably, three Cornish pixies shot out of it.

The second the three eight inch high electric blue creatures were released from the confines of James' satchel, they soared into the air, contorting their faces grotesquely at those closest to them, and screaming in shrill voices that caused all the hairs on Remus' body to stand erect in protest. Then, pandemonium ensured when the three pixies rocketed off in different directions.

One sped right through a side window, showering the row beside it in shards of glass, while the other two proceeded to wreck the classroom more thoroughly than an invading army. They snatched up ink bottles, and sparked them at pupils like Muggle gardening hoses. Owing to this, Remus and Sean McKinnion acquired a couple of sticky, black freckles that they hadn't possessed a moment ago, although, luckily, they could wipe these off with the cuffs of their robes fairly quickly.

The pixies also shredded textbooks, though Remus managed to stow his in his satchel before it could be destroyed, thank Merlin. Papers were also torn by the pixies, and the wastepaper basket was upended by the monsters, before Professor McGonagall finally revered from her shock, and Stunned both of them.

"Miss Prescott!" McGonagall shouted after she Conjured a cage to encase each of the unconscious pixies.

"Yes, Professor," responded Debra Prescott, a bashful, slightly overweight Ravenclaw, whose naturally pink cheeks were now more crimson than raspberries. Her forehead was creased with bemused lines, since she obviously did not comprehend how the Transfiguration instructor could believe that she was responsible for this prank when everyone had seen James release the pixies.

"Please take these to Professor Kettleburn." McGonagall's manner rendered the "please" a superfluous matter of formality, as she shoved the two cages into the adolescent's hands. "He'll know how to handle them properly."

"Of course, Professor, but, um―" Debra broke off helplessly, eyeing the captive pixies with wide cinnamon-colored eyes.

"If you have a question, Miss Prescott, ask it straight out, instead of hemming and hawing at me like an idiot," sighed Professor McGonagall.

"Very well." Debra nodded obediently. Speaking more clearly, she nodded at the pixies, and continued, "I was merely wondering if they would awaken on me, Professor."

"No, they'll be out cold for the next two hours, so, unless you dawdle for a tremendous amount of time in this task, they won't bother you," Professor McGonagall educated her, and, satisfied, the girl fled the room, plainly in a rush to complete this chore, even if she did have two hours left before the pixies regained consciousness.

Once Debra had departed, McGonagall marched over to James, her eyes snapping, her nostrils flaring, and her lips thinner than Remus had ever witnessed them. "Potter where on earth did you get these pixies?" she demanded.

"Hagrid gave them to me and Sirius as a gift last time we had detention with him," mumbled James. It seemed that even he was abashed by her wrath, because he must not have encountered her when she was this irate before.

"He gave them to you?" repeated Professor McGonagall, her eyes contracting menacingly.

"Yeah, but he didn't know what we were planning, Professor―he really just thought we wanted them as pets―" James faltered, anxious about landing Hogwarts gamekeeper in a dragon's lair accidently.

"Students are not permitted to have pixies for pets, Potter, and I'm certain that comes as a surprise to you and Hagrid," observed McGonagall dryly, although her features had softened a tad, as though she regarded James' display of concern for the gamekeeper touching somehow. However, she rapidly regained her typical severe and acerbic attitude when Debra Prescott slipped back into classroom, this time not bearing the pixie bages, and she went on in a tone that was harder than granite, "Potter, you and your accomplice Black―"

"Me?" Sirius expanded his eyes like a baby's in mock astonishment.

"Yes, you," snapped McGonagall, her voice frigid. "It's futile to feign innocence when your buddy Potter has already implicated you, and, besides, I'm aware that you and Potter always perpetrate your crimes together. Now, both of you have two weeks of detention with Filch, a hundred lines of 'I'll never release pixies or any other magical creature in class again,' a four thousand word essay on how to appropriately care for pixies, and you and your families will be responsible for replacing all the items wrecked by the devils you set loose in my class."

Taking advantage of the stupefication that washed over James and Sirius when such a harsh sentence was passed upon them, she gestured at the door, and concluded, "You will both see Professor Dumbledore at once, and explain to him what you have done. Perhaps, he will expel you this time, but I hardly dare to rise my hopes only to have them dashed again."

As James and Sirius reluctantly packed up their bags, and left the room, Professor McGonagall resumed her lecture on Switching Spells, no longer using the diagram to demonstrate her points, because so many pupils had lost their texts to the pixies. However, they didn't have that much time remaining in the period, so she was unable to cover as much material as she had planned, which meant that they received twice as much work over break as they otherwise would have done, an occurrence that she was adamant about blaming on James and Sirius.

When the bell that dismissed them rang, Professor McGonagall snatched a stack of forms off her desk, and strode over to the door while everyone packed up, and headed toward to exit in a rabid lurch. As they hurried out, eager to finish their last day before their spring vacation started, she handed them each a paper to fill out over their holiday.

At first, Remus assumed that it was another sheet of homework for them to complete, but when he accepted the form she proffered to him, he saw that it pertained to selecting courses for next year, according to the bolded title on the opt. He was unable to read further at the moment, though, because McGonagall thrust two more papers into his hands with a, "Kindly give these to your renegade companions, Black and Potter, and instruct them to fill them out, and send them to me over break."

"I'll do just that, Professor," he had enough time to promise, before the surge of beings intent upon leaving the classroom as quickly as possible pushed him out of the room, and he set off for second period Charms in the company of Marlene, who had been waiting outside in the corridor with her friends Mary and Sharon.

The four of them had barely traveled a couple of paces, however, when Sean McKinnion's voice hollered through the teeming hallway, "Marlene! Marlene Hayes, hold up a minute, would you?"

Looking puzzled, Marlene stepped out of the hordes of teenagers, and leaned back against the stone wall. Her three comrades fell back to join her, as Sean dashed up to them. When he reached them, his cheeks were cherries, and he was panting from his exertions.

"Can I help you?" Marlene asked, while Sean inhaled enormous amounts of oxygen, while at the same time exhaling massive bursts of carbon dioxide.

"Uh, that was a pretty cool lesson, wasn't it?" gasped Sean, still struggling to catch his breath.

"Well, the lesson itself wasn't so interesting, but Black and Potter's prank was quite entertaining, so, yeah, I reckon it was," replied Marlene, whose brow was furrowed, because she didn't understand why this boy she was hardly acquainted with was suddenly striking up a random conversation with her. At her words, Remus shot her a reproachful look, since the prank James and Sirius had pulled had been anything but amusing. They had gone past the realm of comical and into the kingdom of entirely inexcusable. After all, they had ruined personal property, broken a school window, and covered many students' robes with ink stains that likely would never be removed, even though, at least, the school uniform was black, so the stains wouldn't be too noticeable. Still, such behavior wasn't funny, and shouldn't be encouraged, even if James and Sirius weren't present to derive pleasure from Marlene's remark. Ignoring his reproving glance, she inquired of Sean, "How is your friend Conan doing, anyway?"

"He'll be able to rejoin classes after holiday, I believe," Sean answered, running his hands fretfully through his pale blonde mop of hair. Here, he paused for a few seconds, gathering the truculence necessary to plunge on in a rush, "Hey, Marlene, would you go into Diagon Alley with me sometime over Easter break?"

"As a date, I presume?" Marlene arched her eyebrows inquisitively at Sean, while Remus stifled the urge to strange the other boy. Nobody else was allowed to date her if he couldn't. It was only fair. After all, if he couldn't have her, why should anyone else be permitted to possess her? She was his, because he had known her the longest, and, therefore, loved her the best. It was that simple, and anyone who infringed on his right to her was scum. It was as uncomplicated as that.

"Right, as a date, exactly," confirmed Sean, his face a gigantic, ripe tomato, something that tempted Remus to launch the aforesaid fruit at the other lad. Fortunately, however, he did not have one handy, nor had he mastered enough magic to Conjure one, so he did not yield to this barbaric impulse. Instead, he settled for clenching his hands into fists behind his back, mentally imploring Marlene to refuse Sean, and kick him in between the legs where it would really hurt as retribution for even having the temerity to ask her out.

Yet, the telepathic bond between Marlene and Remus must have been malfunctioning, for she giggled, and told Sean, "I thought you'd _never_ ask, and I would have to be the one to scrounge up the courage to ask you out, but you've finally done it, thank God. Of course I'll go out with you. How could I refuse someone as handsome as you? Now, I'm free Wednesday afternoon from twelve to two."

"Wonderful." Relief shone all over Sean's face, which Remus longed to punch with his balled fists. "I'll―I'll meet you outside the Leaky Cauldron at a quarter past twelve, then, and I'll take you out to lunch and ice cream at Florean Fortescue's afterwards, shall I? After that, we can visit Quality Quidditch Supplies, and look at that new broomstick they just came out with, because I know that you love Quidditch― that's why you're a Chaser on the Gryffindor team."

"That's a great idea," Marlene enthused, grinning from ear to ear, as Remus swallowed the bile that rose inside his throat at her behavior. What in the name of all that was holy was she doing? This wasn't the girl he knew and loved. This was some pinheaded, giggling flirt, dithering over a male that was unworthy of her splendor, and it was intolerable. If Sean turned her into such a despicable creature, Sean would have to die. It was as easy an equation as that. "Then, we can go into Flourish and Botts, too, if you want, because I know how much you _adore _books, and I want you to have fun, as well."

"I'm sure I will, if I'm spending the afternoon with you," Sean reassured her, and ran off before Remus could whack him, to Remus' intense disappointment.

"If we're late to Charms because of your new imbecilic boyfriend, I shall Crucio him to death, and make you watch," Remus threatened Marlene, as he, the addressed, Mary, and Sharon all resumed their trip to the Charms classroom.

"You could have gone on ahead if you care so much about being tardy," she retorted. "Anyway, what are you so stressed out about? If we're late, all Flitwick will do is squeak out that we are, and tell us to sit down at once, and copy the notes we missed from someone. Big flipping deal."

Paying no mind to her accurate analysis of what would happen if they were tardy to Professor Flitwick's lesson, Remus countered, "I had to be there, so that I could wallop him in the face if he tried to kiss you or something. Somebody has got to protect you, if you're not going to do it for yourself."

"Did it ever enter your mind that I don't require protection?" hissed Marlene, her eyes searing him, as Mary and Sharon fell back a few steps to offer the other two adolescents some privacy, because this exchange was rapidly turning awkward. Remus barely had the time required to spare them a grateful thought, because Marlene went on, "Have you considered that perhaps I have Sean right where I want him, huh?"

"Oh, do you?" Remus raised his eyebrows at her, not caring at the moment if his words constituted a low blow. "Because, from my perspective, it seemed more like he had you where he wanted you― wrapped around his dirty little finger."

"Maybe you only saw that because a bat is less blind than you are," she fired back.

"So what was I supposed to see, then?" he demanded in a withering tone.

"That I only said yes to make James jealous," Marlene admitted, heat rising on her face for the first time.

"Oh, Lord, just give up on James already, Marlene." Remus rolled his eyes in exasperation. "James is obsessed with Lily Evans. He could care less about everyone else. It's Sirius that has got the wandering eyes. Flirt with Sirius if you want to date a Marauder, and I'm not good enough for you."

"I won't give up on James." Obstinately, Marlene shook her head in negation. "After all, James does have a thing for redheads, doesn't he, and I have red hair." Here, she twirled a strand of her auburn curls around her finger, as though she could wrap the boy she spoke of around her finger as effortlessly as she had spun her hair, Remus, and Sean around it. "Therefore, he might ask me out sometime in order to inspire envy in Lily, and then, I've got him ensnared. Once he starts dating me, he'll never be able to stop, because he'll become addicted to me. QED."

"That's a brilliant scheme to rival anything Julius Caesar devised, I assure you," commented Remus wryly, as they turned down the Charms corridor at last, to his relief, because they still had one minute to get to class, which meant they would be on time despite the stupid Sean delay. "The only minor flaw in it is that James won't ask you out, if you're dating Sean."

"Oh, yes, he will." Marlene offered him a crafty, inveigling smirk that he had never witnessed her employing before, and his stomach churned in response, because this seductive female wasn't the girl he had known since they were seven. "You see, Remus, guys talk about girls, and the― experiences― they have with them, and if they hear good things, they might decide to have a good time, as well."

"You can't mean that you're going to let Sean do― things― with you?" stammered an appalled Remus, cracking his white knuckles at the image of Sean kissing and touching Marlene all over her beautiful body. A body that no male save Remus was fit to make physical contact with.

"That remains to be seen," she shrugged, and he was denied the opportunity to voice his revulsion when they entered Professor Flitwick's class, and sat down, because the tiny, effeminate Charms master, who, as always, was perched on a pile of books as high as Mount Everest so that he could see over his desk, was already squeaking for silence, and Remus did not have the heart to ignore him.

That evening at dinner, when Remus handed James and Sirius, who had only received a lecture form Dumbledore in addition to the punishments McGonagall had heaped upon them, their class sign-up forms, James chuckled, "I'd forgotten that Mum and Dad told me that we get to choose our classes for next year."

"Do we have to pick any new courses?" asked Peter nervously through a mouthful of steak and kidney pie. "I'm not sure I can manage another class, after all, since I'm only just scraping passes in all of my subjects. With more, I'll be failing before you know it―"

"I'm sorry, Peter, but, yes, you have to pick at least one new class from the listed options," Remus educated him, pointing at the line that made this declaration on his own paper. "However, if you go to Professor McGonagall after supper, perhaps you'll be able to convince her to make an exception for you. After all, if you explain to her that you fear you'll be in jeopardy of failing if you add more courses to your workload, I'm positive that she'll find a solution. She's a clever witch."

"I'm not going to see her." Peter shuddered. "She hates me, because she thinks I'm dumb, and she'd just snap at me to read the form and follow it."

"Well, if you won't do as he suggests, stop complaining, because you're giving me a migraine," snorted Sirius, and Peter snapped his mouth shut at once.

"So, do you reckon we're allowed to drop our old classes?" James wondered aloud.

"Nope," Remus responded to this inquiry, also. "According to the form, you have to keep all your original classes."

"Damn," cursed James. "I was going to drop Transfiguration."

"Why?" Remus frowned. "Transfiguration is your best subject." It was, too, since James really did have a talent in that class that surpassed the considerable skills he displayed in practical magic in all other fields. Privately, Remus figured that McGonagall's irascibility with James Potter might originate in her despair at the fact that she couldn't reach such a bright pupil so much of the time.

"Maybe," scowled James, "but I hate the teacher. Mum's going to cry about what I've done, and Dad's going to be so disappointed in me. I can't stand it when I upset them."

"That's something that I don't have in common with you, mate," Sirius noted. "I love distressing my parents."

"You only feel that way because you have no love for them, since they never gave you enough love." James dropped his fork, which he was utilizing to shovel large doses of steak and kidney pie to his mouth, briefly, so that he could mess up the other lad's hair, despite his curses and protests, and then dug back into his meal with gusto. "If you come to live with me for awhile, you'll see why I care if I upset my parents, because they'll treat you like a second son, I promise, and you know how they dote on me."

"I'll remember to move in with you, then, when Mum and Dad finally lose any semblance of patience with me, and disown me," chortled Sirius.

The next evening, when Remus sat down for dinner at his home with his mother and father, who had picked him up at King's Cross an hour previously, picking classes was also the discussion topic. After he explained how he was required to select what subjects he wanted to study in his fourth and fifth years, Remus asked his parents, "What lessons do you think I should sign up for?"

"That's up to you, dear," his mum informed him between bites of her roll.

"But, Mum, all the courses open to us sound so interesting, and I don't know how to choose," Remus confessed.

"You don't have to choose between them if you don't want to," his dad remarked.

"I don't?" Remus stared at the man in astonishment at this statement.

"No, you don't," repeated Mr. Lupin. "You can take all twelve subjects, if you wish, just like I did."

"How?" Remus could feel his forehead knitting in consternation. "There isn't enough time to fit all those classes in a Hogwarts schedule!"

"They'll provide you with a time turner," Mr. Lupin explained.

"That won't work for me." As his excitement waned abruptly, flowing out of him like helium seeping out of a hot air balloon, Remus shook his head. "I'm afraid that if I had a time turner, I would use it inappropriately, to go back to before I was bitten by a werewolf or something, and that's perilous and illegal. I'll just have to pick two new classes like everyone else. So, what ones did you like best?"

"Arithmancy and Ancient Runes," responded his father immediately. "They were very intellectually challenging, and really expanded my cognitive abilities, but Muggle Studies was intriguing― it is somewhat fascinating to learn about Muggle culture, after. I didn't much care for Care of Magical Creatures, and I dropped it in my sixth year, once OWLs were done."

"I liked Care of Magical Creatures, though," said Mrs. Lupin. "I still remember when Professor Kettleburn brought those unicorns to class."

"And they wouldn't come near any of the males," added her husband, smiling slightly at the memory.

"They wouldn't, indeed," Mrs. Lupin laughed. "Well, I enjoyed Arithmancy like your father did, as well, even though I was never very skilled at it. Numbers don't come naturally to me, unfortunately."

Remus considered his parents' words for awhile, and then decided, "I'll enroll in Artihmancy and Ancient Runes, then. Muggle Studies and Care of Magical Creatures are for people like James and Sirius who like to bring pixies to Transfiguration lessons."

Author's Note: By the way, I know that JKR said in an interview that James played Chaser, but she didn't say that was the only position he ever played, and we know that some people play multiple postions, so I thought it was possible that he may have played Seeker before being a Chaser, especially because he was toying with a Snitch in Book Five in Snape's memory. (And he was good at catching it.)

Yes, I borrowed the pixie idea from Book 2, but I hope you like it, anyhow.


	15. Chapter 15

Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to all those who died on September the 11th, 2001, to all those who lost family and friends in the attacks, to all those who have perished protecting America since then, and to all those who have lost a family member or friend in the War on Terror since then. Nothing in this chapter clearly relates to any of this, but I think it wise to remember anyway, if only so we can prevent such horrible things from happening in the future, and because I still feel such things deeply since I live in the suburbs of New York City, so I knew some children who lost parents in the attacks, and so I feel honor bound to mention it. Even if you're not American, I believe that we can all devote ourselves to working to stop such attacks on innocent people all over the globe. Hey, it's worth trying anyway. Even if we fail, it'll still make things a little better, so we have nothing to lose.

Secrets, Problems, and Solutions

In the end, Remus was able to keep his lycanthropy a secret from everybody save the staff and Marlene until late November in his third year, when James, Sirius, and Peter dropped by to visit with him on the Friday evening after his transformation on the night of the full moon. The last night's transformation had been an especially harrowing ordeal, and now slices lined Remus' arms and cheeks, causing him to suffer from a constant, searing undercurrent of pain, despite the poultices Madam Promfery had applied to his wounds.

The continuous stream of agony that hummed through him all day while he recovered from his self-induced injuries led him to grasp enthusiastically at any distraction, because it dimmed the pain he was enduring by obliging his mind to focus on something beside himself. Therefore, he was more uplifted by the sight of the other three Marauders arriving in the hospital wing shortly after dinner with their arms bulging with pastries stolen from the house-elves in the kitchen than he would typically have been.

"I hope you didn't pig out at supper, Remus," commented Sirius with mock gravity, as the three guests dumped their loads of sweets of Remus' night table, "because, otherwise, you won't have the appetite to consume the most nutritious course of all: dessert."

"Don't worry." Remus gestured at the deep trenches that crisscrossed his cheeks, and that prompted what felt like spears to lance through his face every time his lips parted to form a word, an aggravating circumstance that perhaps accounted for the slightly terse tone of his voice. "These beauties prevent me from eating, and they make talking a real chore, as well, for that matter."

"What did you have for dinner?" inquired James, plopping into a wooden chair situated on the left side of Remus' bed. As Peter reached out hand to grab a peach cobbler from the mound of treats piled on the nightstand, he ordered, "Don't touch anything yet, Peter. Sick people get first dibs, obviously. God, where the heck are your manners?"

"He left them in the kennel with his mummy by accident," snickered Sirius, and Peter flushed, as his hand yanked reflexively back from the dessert mountain.

"No, he left them in the pig sty, you mean," James corrected, smirking. Then, ignoring Peter's scarlet face, he whirled back to Remus. "So, what did you have for supper?"

"Roast beef and baked potatoes." Remus deliberately kept his response as brief as possible to minimize the daggers that whipped across his face every time he opened his mouth.

"You had the same meal we did, then," observed Sirius.

"And no wonder you couldn't eat with those nasty scratches." As he established as much, James nodded at Remus' gashes. "After all, roast beef is so chewy that it causes my jaw to hurt when I consume it, even when my face is in perfect condition, like it is now."

"Perfect for you, that is," he best friend noted caustically. "The rest of us prefer when your face is cut up, since it's less ugly then."

Ignoring Sirius' interjection, James went on, as he grabbed a cheese danish from the stack on the night table, and shoved it into the wounded lad's palm, "This is nice and soft, and I would know, because my grandma Potter gobbles up cheese danishes like a troll eats anything it can scoop up, and she's got dentures, so if she can devour them, you should have no difficulty just eating one."

Tentatively, Remus nibbled compliantly on the pastry James handed him, and, although the movement sent waves of agony rippling through his arm and face when first one part and then another was forced to act, he discovered the sweet, custardy cheese, fresh bread, and heavenly cinnamon and sugar sprinkled on top of the pastry more than compensated for the pain that coursed through him when he moved.

In fact, the basked good was so delectable that he found himself taking several more bites, which chopped off ever larger chunks of the pastry, as he became correspondingly more addicted to it. He was halfway through it when the other fellows each snatched up a treat: James selecting a jelly doughnut, Sirius an apple tart, and Peter the peach cobbler he had been eyeing wistfully ever since James had admonished for attempting to take earlier.

They had all finished their first pastries when Madam Promfery, who apparently had been preoccupied with paperwork in her office, which adjoined the sick ward, marched out of her office, and bustled up to the four adolescents, who couldn't have been more clearly guilty if they had the word stamped across their foreheads in violet ink.

"If I discover any remnant of pastry here, boys, I will have Black and Potter tidying up this entire wing without magic the next time they're placed in detention," she warned them, drawing herself up imperiously, so that she bore a tremendous, uncanny resemblance to an emperor penguin.

"Don't fret," Sirius assured her, offering her his patented charismatic grin that only a privileged few could resist the wiles of, "we won't make a mess."

"You'd better not, or I'll fulfill my promise, you can bank on that!" declared Madam Promfery, who, unfortunately, was plainly among those immune to Sirius' charm, coldly. She glared around at them menacingly, and, then, she pivoted on her heel, and stalked back into her office.

"So, Remus, do you have anything you'd like to tell us?" James asked, munching on a cream puff, his expression uncharacteristically sober.

"Nah, I've been in the hospital ward all day," responded Remus, blocking out the pain that swelled inside him as he spoke, and helped himself to an éclair, "meaning that nothing much has happened to me, and certainly nothing worth telling you lot about."

"You don't want to inform us that you're a werewolf, then, I gather?" James arched a questioning eyebrow.

"What have you been sniffing? I'm not a werewolf!" lied Remus instinctively. As soon as the fib sailed out of his mouth, he regretted it, as remorse over expressing a falsehood to his best mates flooded him. He tried to assuage his conscience by reminding himself that he had lied to his friends on previous occasions when he had repeatedly ascribed his monthly absences from school as resulting from spattergroit. Yet, the notion wasn't nearly as much of a consolation as he had intended it to be. Actually, the idea prompted more guilt to fuel up inside him, because wrongs did not justify further wrongs, especially when the initial ones were committed by the same individual who strove to excuse new ones.

Damn Fenrir Grayback! It was his ruthlessness that had compelled Remus to lie about his true identity to any of his comrades, since nobody would want to associate with a werewolf, unless they happened to be named Marlene Hayes. In fact, if James and Sirius learned that he was a werewolf, they would not wish to hang around with him any longer, and neither would Peter, since he clung to the other two boys like gum to a shoe sole. Also, if James and Sirius discovered what he was, they would make it the school joke by this time tomorrow.

Not long after that, the furious letters from parents enraged that Dumbledore had imperiled their beloved offspring by housing a werewolf on Hogwarts grounds would besiege the headmaster, the benevolent man who had the charity to admit Remus as a pupil, despite his being a werewolf, and perhaps he would be forced under the crushing pressure of public ire to send Remus home, all because Remus had been stupid enough to open his heart up to two clever, mischievous teenagers, boys who couldn't be trusted and would betray him for a couple of laughs at his expense. He'd deserve it after being such a naïve idiot, though. It was Dumbledore whom he felt sorry for, because he shouldn't be punished for being compassionate, and yet he would be. Such was life.

"You're not a werewolf, and my name is Severus Snape the Slimeball," drawled James, rolling his eyes.

"I swear I'm not a werewolf!" Desperation entered Remus' tone as he asserted as much, even as he strove to suppress it, aware that such a reaction would be a major indicator that he was, indeed, the beast he had denied being.

"Please," scoffed Sirius, snorting into his lemon bar, "at least give James and I credit for intelligence where credit it is due, although I don't request or require that you extend the same courtesy to Peter, since I've never witnessed anything that could be constituted as proof that he really does possess a brain like the rest of us do. We'd have to be dumber than stumps and blinder than logs not to notice that you disappear every month at the full moon, as a cursory glance at the lunar calendar will confirm."

"That's not proof that I'm a werewolf," Remus pointed out. "Being absent on the full moon is no more conclusive evidence of being a werewolf than having a cat or a broomstick is of being a witch, for Christ's sake!"

"Granted," conceded Sirius, "however, that's not the only reason we believe that you're a werewolf, is it, James?"

"Nope, it's not," the addressed seconded immediately, as Remus felt his hopes of evading this unpleasant situation, which now seemed to inevitably end with him disclosing that he was, indeed, a monster that nobody with a trace of sanity would desire their children to be within a kilometer radius of, dashed, "because we learned in Defense Against the Dark Arts in October that boggarts change into the moon when a werewolf confronts them, and that's what made us really wonder about you. So, I decided to find out what I could about this spattergroit that you claimed afflicted you every month, coincidentally at the full moon."

"Therefore, he wrote to his granddad, who was a Healer at St. Mungo's for fifty-seven years, and he informed James that spattergroit was a medieval term for freckles, which people used to try a great many stupid cures for, because they were regarded as really revolting," interjected Sirius. "Then, we knew that spattergroit was just a guise you invented to account for your injuries―-which could very easily be sustained if you are, in fact, a werewolf. Ipso facto."

"Case-o-closed-o," added James, poking fun at the Latin expression.

"I've met my Waterloo." Remus sighed, and raised his hands in defeat, bracing himself for the sting of betrayal he would feel like whack across the face when his three buddies rose, and left in disgust to gossip about him to everyone who would listen. Yet, nobody made any move to abandon him, and, from the looks on James and Sirius' faces, the two lads seemed to feel as though they had lost, rather than won, a crucial debate.

"So, you lied to us all this time?" James sounded hurt, as though Remus had betrayed him as Brutus had Julius Caesar, and Lancelot had King Arthur.

"I― I had no choice," stuttered Remus. "I was afraid that―"

"You were afraid that if you told us the truth that we'd abandon you as if you were a dog that had rolled in dung," James completed his thought crossly. "I don't think I've been more offended in my life."

"Yeah," pressed Sirius, "do you honestly believe that we're such awful bastards that we'd leave you just because you're a blasted werewolf? Do you really think that we don't have a compassionate bone in either of our bodies, huh? Did you forget that no matter if you're a boy, or a werewolf, or a dancing bear, we're brothers all the same, and we'll remain that way forever?"

"No." His face aflame, Remus rapidly shook his head in denial. "Of course not."

"Obviously, you did," Sirius grunted, "or else you would've confided in us long before now."

Remus couldn't devise a safe fashion in which to answer this charge, and so he just fiddled with the coarse blanket on his hospital bed, mainly so that he had an excuse to avoid his companions' gazes, and had something to occupy his quaking hands with. Finally, he was rescued when James took pity on him, and remarked, "Well, as Shakespeare would say, what's done is done, and can never be undone. Therefore, we ought to let bygones be bygones, learn from our errors, and continue on twice as wise. We'll all just swear to be honest with each other, because lies never protect anybody, and secrets only divide friends. We'll tell each other everything important from now on, and never break each other's trust by leaking out a secret, all right?"

"All right," the thirteen-year-old boys agreed in one voice, making such a solemn vow without much contemplation as only youths can do, and Remus felt an overwhelming surge of gratitude for the lads who had refused to abandon him even after he had confessed that he was a werewolf, and had been lying to them. He owed them a tremendous debt for this, and someday he would pay it off somehow, even if he had to die trying.

"Excellent," a grinning James approved. However, when he glanced at Remus' arms and legs, his features sobered. "That happens every time you transform, doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does," Remus admitted softly, because he wasn't permitted to lie to any of them now, even if he was positive that the lie would protect them far more than the truth in this instance.

"And you face this alone every month?" pursued the other boy.

"Yep," whispered Remus.

"We've got to do something about your furry little problem, then, because you can't always suffer alone like this."

"'Furry little problem?'" Sirius guffawed. "You make it sound like he is the unfortunate owner of a naughty rabbit."

"Stuff a sock in it, or I'll hex your tongue off," scowled James, before turning to Remus, and stating, "We've got to find a way to remain with you when you transform."

"I realize that I've asked you this so many times since I've made your acquaintance that it barely even counts as rhetorical, but have you lost your mind?" yelped Remus, jerking as bolt upright as he could on his cot, owing to his alarm. "If you're around me when I transform, I'll bite you, because I can't control myself when I'm a werewolf, and the curse will be upon you, too, and I'm not about to let that happen. I know how terrible it is to be a werewolf, and I'm not about to inflict that upon anyone, if I can avoid it, which I can, in this case."

"Of course we can't be around you when we're people, but we could if we're animals," maintained James staunchly.

"I assure you that while you and Sirius sometimes behave like animals, you are actually human," Remus returned on a small smile.

"I am aware of that, thanks," snapped James, "but we could become Animagi like Professor McGonagall. I mean, it can't be too challenging for us, since Sirius and I have never had any problems with Transfiguration before, and we could help Peter along."

"It shouldn't be too difficult?" Remus echoed, emitting a sound pitched between a hysterical peal of laughter, and a wild shriek of frustration. "Right, now I have proof that you're out of your mind. You do understand that there have only been ninety-two Animagi this century, and that it requires years, even decades, worth, of dedicated study before a full-grown witch or wizard would even dare to attempt such a feat, and, even then, there could be severe accidents, or even death as a result? The idea of you, Peter, and Sirius becoming Animagi while still at school is simply ludicrous."

"It is not," insisted James. "We've got a lot of power inside us, Remus, so don't sell us short. If we put our minds to it, we can figure out how to become Animagi, so that we can keep you company on the full moon. Now, we'll just scrounge around the library, and see what we can uncover about how to become an Animagus―"

"That won't do a whit of goof," Remus educated him. "When we were writing our essays on Animagi, I read every book in the Hogwarts library upon the subject, and I encountered nothing that hinted at, nonetheless detailed, how one would approach the complex task of becoming an Animagus."

"Well, that's rubbish!" exclaimed James, his expression souring. "What sort of school prevents its students from learning all they can about achieving extraordinary types of magic?"

"Perhaps one that doesn't want its pupils to blow themselves up?" supplied Remus dryly.

"Can you really blow yourself up if you mess up when you attempt to become an Animagi?" a petrified Peter squawked.

"Yes." Remus nodded, pleased that he was finally getting through to somebody, even if it was only weak-willed, submissive Peter. Oh, well, maybe the boy's survival instincts would kick in enough that he would whine so much that James and Sirius would agree not to become Animagi just to shut him up.

"Do I have to become an Animagi?" whimpered Peter, gazing imploringly at James and Sirius.

"Yeah, you do, so shut your trap," both boys snarled in unison, and Peter's mouth snapped closed instantly, killing Remus' hope of his complaining enough to erode James' and Sirius' resolve.

"Now." James concentrated on Remus again. "McGonagall became an Animagus, so she must have some materials that she can be tricked into providing us with. Clearly, given my reputation as a lackluster student at best, I can hardly ask her for books describing how to become an Animagus, because then that will arise her suspicions―"

"It definitely will," Sirius cut in, "as she even gets suspicious when he turns in his homework. She's convinced that he must have copied it off Remus."

"I do that sometimes," James confessed unrepentantly, "but, anyway, we can't have a clever witch like her hovering over our shoulders, watching our every move, if we wish to succeed. As such, Remus, since you're our resident good student, you can talk to her after next lesson, and convince her to let you borrow her books on the topic of becoming an Animagus. She'll have to give them to you, and we'll all copy them word for word during our free time, and return them as soon as we're done doing so, so that she won't wonder why it's taking you so long to read them, and we can refer to them at our leisure. Understood?"

"Yes," Remus assented after a moment's pause, in which he decided that James and Sirius were indeed powerful wizards, and, if they put in the effort they obviously seemed willing to invest, they would be able to accomplish becoming Animagi without the attempt costing them their lives, and it would be wonderful to have companions with him while he went through the agony of his werewolf transformations…Never more would he be alone in his dark savagery…Now there would be others with him to keep him a little more civilized…Sure, he knew that Dumbledore wouldn't want any of his peers near him while he was transformed, but the other three wouldn't technically be students when they were their Animagi forms, but rather animals, and, besides, what the man didn't learn wouldn't kill him, anyhow. Dumbledore couldn't deprive him of this one chance to make his monthly nightmare a fraction less horrifying. That would be most unjust.

"Awesome." James nodded, satisfied.

The words had barely escaped his lips when Madam Promfery banged out of her office again, charged up to the congregation surrounding Remus, and commanded them to depart at once, so that he could rest enough to recover in time for Monday's classes, as today was Friday night, after all.

After Transfiguration lesson on Wednesday, Remus dawdled at his desk, slowly placing his textbooks in his satchel, as everyone else departed rapidly for supper, chatting animatedly with each other after a challenging class where they were not permitted to converse with one another.

When the last person had left the room, Remus tentatively approached Professor McGonagall, who was grading the papers she had collected from them at the outset of the lesson, and ventured, "Excuse me, Professor. May I have a word with you?"

"You may." Professor McGonagall scribbled a mark on an essay, and then focused all of her attention upon him. "Do you have a question about the lesson, Mr. Lupin?"

"No, Professor," he faltered, "but it does pertain to Transfiguration."

"Ask away, then, since I am your Transfiguration instructor," she ordered.

"Professor, I was wondering, when did you become an Animagus?" This wasn't exactly how he had planned to broach the subject of borrowing her tomes on becoming an Animgus, but it was a decent enough opening, and, even if it wasn't, it would have to function as such, since he couldn't take back what he had already said, and he would just have to deal with the rest of the exchange as it came along.

Her eyes narrowed, and, for an instant, he feared that she would chide him for nosiness, but, in the end, she merely answered, "When I was seventeen, I accomplished it with the aid of Professor Dumbeldore, who was my Transfiguration teacher. I had the honor of being his research assistant for two years, and he taught me many valuable things― he was akin to a personal tutor at times. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Remus told her quickly. "Do you happen to have any books on how to become an Animagus?"

"Why do you want them?" she demanded.

"For research." He shrugged vaguely, staring at the flagstone floor, because suddenly he had the epiphany that he was lying to her, and he didn't enjoy the sensation in the slightest, as he had never lied to a professor before, and he sensed that she would not condone his actions if she was aware of the truth. Still, his friends were depending on him to attain the books they needed from her, and he had to do his duty by them, especially since they had remained steadfast, even after learning his true identity. That meant that he would have to lie to her, even if he quailed at doing so. Darn it, loyalty got you every time, he groaned inwardly.

"You are aware, Mr. Lupin, that werewolves are unable to become Animagi?" inquired Professor McGonagall in a voice that was atypically gentle for her.

"Yes, I know that, thank you, Professor. I just need the books for research, that's all."

She scrutinized him with her hawk's vision for a moment. Then, apparently satisfied, she rose, and strode over to a bookshelf in the corner, from which she withdrew half a dozen thick tomes. As she piled them onto Remus' outstretched arms, she commanded, "Return these to me as soon as you are done reading them. I expect them to be handed back to me in the same impeccable condition that they are in now."

"They will be, Professor," he swore, his dark eyes somber, because he could never imagine damaging a book. His dad would murder him for such a heinous offense. Ruining a book murdered a million ideas, because not only did it destroy those that had been in print, but it also killed all those that would have developed from reading the words that should have been present on the parchment.

"Very well." She dismissed him with a curt wave of her hand. "Hurry along down to dinner now, and don't get any of it on my tomes."

"I won't," Remus promised as he walked out of the classroom.

That evening, after the Marauders had gone into their dormitory to prepare for bed, Remus announced, as they all tugged on their pajamas, "I convinced Professor McGonagall to provide me with the books you guys need."

"Marvelous," pronounced James.

"Magnificent," established Sirius simultaneously.

"Give them to us tomorrow," James commanded, "so that you can start copying out of them." When Remus had bobbed his head in affirmation, he added more softly, "Hey, Remus, my mate, how exactly did you come to be bitten by a werewolf, anyway? Did you sneak out after dark, and get attacked by a werewolf because of that? Is that why you abide by every single rule now?"

For a long moment, Remus hesitated, debating inwardly whether he should confide in the other three adolescents. Then, he remembered his promise earlier, and he recognized that he could not lie to the beings who had not only accepted his werewolf state, but had begun to work so that he could not face his monthly hell on earth alone. The very least they deserved was the truth. They ought to be aware that the tortures shoved upon him every month were not the random result of a tragic accident, but rather the coldly calculated consequence of an evil Fenrir Grayback.

"Have you heard of Fenrir Grayback?" he asked into the tense quiet.

"Yeah," murmured James. "He's the psychopathic werewolf that delights in biting children for fun, especially if their parents have angered You-Know-Who's lackeys somehow."

"Exactly. He's the one who bit me, because Dad incited the wrath of You-Know-Who's Death Eaters."

"How?" James gasped, horrified, but spellbound by this terrifying yet captivating nonfiction tale.

"He and his brother, Brendan, worked in the Department of Mysteries together at the Ministry, and, after years of research, they managed to concoct a potion they called Veritaserum. Veritaserum forces the drinker to spill out their innermost secrets, and, as such, would be useful to the Death Eaters. Therefore, some of You-Know-Who's followers tried to persuade him to furnish them with the recipe, but he denied their request, because he figured that such corrupt people should not be afforded such power―"

"He was absolutely right," interrupted Sirius, glowering. "If only the rest of my family, excepting dear Andromeda, of course, combined were half as bright as he is, my life would be twice as splendid as it is now."

Ignoring this, because he was accustomed to such complaints about the Blacks from his buddy, Remus plunged on, incapable of ceasing the torrent showering from his mouth now that he had started to speak, "Anyway, when Uncle Brendan refused to accede to their wishes, they murdered him, which was why Chet and Aunt Mildred fled to Rhode Island. Then, the Death Eaters turned their attention on my father. They believed that he would be easy to manipulate after his older sibling's killing, but they were wrong, for he stubbornly refused to give them the recipe, and sent the only copy of it to the United States Ministry, although he told them he had shipped it off to the Canadian one. You-Know-Who's minions were outraged when Dad denied them their request, and they threatened to set Fenrir Grayback lose upon me, but he still wouldn't budge, and so they did so on the next full moon, and―well, here I am."

To his chagrin, Remus discovered that tears were trickling slowly down his cheeks as he finished this story, and he swept them away angrily before his comrades noticed this display of emotional vulnerability.

"Whoa," whistled James, his hazel eyes moister than usual, "your dad and uncle should have been in Gryffindor."

"Dad wouldn't appreciate that comment," Remus smiled, "as he is quite proud of his former House, you know."

"So, was he disappointed like my family was when you were placed in here?" pressed Sirius.

"Oh, no," Remus replied at once, thinking that his father had nothing in common with the austere Mr. and Mrs. Black. "He didn't even mention the fact that I got put in a different House than both he and Mum did, because I bet he comprehended that the Hat is never wrong."

"Of course it's never incorrect," clinched James, turning off the lights, and sending the whole dorm into darkness abruptly, "and it's certainly not wrong in this case. We were destined to meet, and become best friends, and nothing could be more wonderful than that."


	16. Chapter 16

Red Ribbons

It was an autumn Friday afternoon in mid-November just like any other, and fourth-year Remus Lupin was struggling to figure out the solutions to a complex series of Arithmancy equations that he and the rest of the class had been set. He had managed to complete the first two problems with considerable difficulty, but, for some reason, he couldn't push past the fifth step on the third one, and he wasn't positive that the steps he'd taken thus far were accurate, anyhow.

Sighing, he raised his hand for assistance, but, then he noticed that Professor Vector was busy working with a Ravenclaw named Debra Prescott, and the Arithmancy instructor would probably not be available any time in the near future. Not wanting his hand to go numb while he waited for his teacher to acknowledge him, Remus glanced to his right at Sean McKinnion, who he rather liked as long as he did not mention his relationship with Marlene, and at Sean's beat mate, Conan Dooley.

He wasn't planning on copying their work, but he hoped that they would be able and willing to air him, as both lads were quick studies with natural talents with numbers. Yet, the very fact that they were so clever functioned to Remus' detriment now, because they were both engrossed in their classwork, and he was loath to interrupt them, knowing how vexing it was to be disrupted in the middle of an important train of thought.

With his plot of receiving assistance from his fellow pupils foiled, Remus emitted another resigned sigh, and raised his hand in the air again, praying that Professor Vector would finish with Debra soon. However, his hand had barely pierced through the air in a silent request for help, when the quiet of the room, which previously had been so absolute that every quill scratch had been plainly audible, and the agonizing march of logic across every adolescent mind could be heard, was shattered by Professor Dumbledore's voice, magically magnified, echoing throughout the room, "All students are to please report to their House common rooms immediately. All professors, please proceed at once to the staff room. Students, your Heads of House will be updating you on what is happening shortly."

For a moment, the silence in the classroom became even more pronounced than before. Nobody could recall the headmaster ever making an announcement that even remotely resembled this, and Professor Dumbledore's voice wasn't as calm as always. Sure, the tone had appeared placid on the surface, but not far underneath there was a hint of steel that might have been concealing fear. Yet, that was balderdash. Professor Dumbledore wasn't scared by anything…after all, it was You-Know-Who that was terrified of him, not the other way around. Still, maybe the headmaster wasn't concerned about his safety― maybe he was worried about the well-being of his changes, of the children attending Hogwarts…

"Do either of you know what the heck is happening?" Sean's hoarse whisper, directed at him and Conan, intruded upon Remus' musings, and dragged him back to reality with a jolt and a blink.

"Nope," he mumbled. "I don't know any more than you do, since I was just sitting here working like you two were."

"I do," remarked Conan seriously. When his companions stared at him, he smirked, "Dumbledore must have discovered the Muggle bomb I planted in the school, and it's a pity, too, because it's set to blow in five minutes, assuming I determined how to operate the timer properly, of course. Well, maybe they won't be able to find the exact location before it explodes…"

"One day, I will hex that fibbing tongue of yours into a knot." Sean rolled his eyes at his friend.

Before any of them could say anything else, however, Professor Vector snapped, "Everyone, unless you've suddenly all gone deaf, or had your memories modified so extensively that you have forgotten the essentials of the English language, you heard Professor Dumbledore order you back to your common rooms at once, so do it. Don't wait for a box of chocolates, flowers, and a personalized invitation, just get to your common rooms right away!"

Her shout galvanized the group of teenagers into prompt action. Now, everybody was tossing textbooks, quills, ink, and parchment into their satchels without any concern for tidiness, or breaking any of these items. Over the din that ensued as the entire assembly scrambled to pack their bookbags in record time as Professor Vector departed the room to meet with the rest of the teachers in the staff room, Sean inquired, "Hey, Remus, would be so kind as to tell Marlene that I'll take her for a walk around the grounds tomorrow? Just explain to her that Dumbledore's announcement probably means that we're going to be commanded to spend the evening in our Houses, and I don't want either of us to lose points if we're caught, and, besides, it might be dangerous for us to go out tonight from what Dumbledore said, anyway, so just pass my message along to her, won't you?"

"Of course," Remus gritted, hating the reminder of Marlene's relationship with Sean, who really was a decent fellow, except for the fact that he had chosen to steal the girl Remus loved, which meant that he could hardly behave like an idiot to the other boy. Besides, if he did, then the tale would circle around to Marlene, and she would be cross at him for treating her boyfriend poorly.

"Great. Thanks." Sean forced a grin through the awful nervousness that coursed through them all, because nobody comprehended what was wrong, and why they had to be dismissed from lessons early.

Remus responded with a terse nod, as he threw his backpack across his shoulder, and hurried out of the classroom. The instant he entered the corridor, his anxiety rose exponentially. The hallway was congested with pupils, all shoving in opposite directions, as they fought their way back toward their respective common rooms, all with wide eyes and creased foreheads that attested to their confusion and barely concealed terror. However much most them detested lessons, none of them was comfortable when the routine of attending them was altered, he noted, as he arrived at a spiral staircase that led up to the Gryffindor Tower to his relief, because now he was a particle of a steady, if rapid, stream of people that, at least, were all headed in the same direction.

When he reached the entrance to the common room, Remus learned to his shock that, under the deluge of beings constantly pressing for entry, the Fat Lady had elected to just remain open as Gryffindor after Gryffindor raced past her into the common room, not bothering to demand the password of anyone.

As he walked into the common room, he realized that he had never seen it this jammed. Normally, even after curfew, it wasn't this packed, because many students enjoyed going to bed early, and even after Quidditch victories, when every House member was present, the crowd had felt much different.

Then, people had been dancing and singing along to every song the radio played, feasting on the food and beverages James and Sirius stole from the house-elves, and reliving the splendor of the match. In short, most beings had been standing, so the room did not feel as if it were at or exceeding carrying capacity, and the babble that had flooded the chamber had been a blessing, because it was what naturally resulted from a bunch of rejoicing humans. It was laced with raucous laughter, gleeful cries, and cheery singing. It was the epitome of man's delight in others of his own kind.

Now, though, the hordes in the common room heavied, rather than lightened, the mood. Every conceivable location on which to sit was taken. Students were squeezed two or three apiece on the lounge chairs, and, on the sofas that many would be crammed onto a single cushion. The arms of every lounge chair and sofa had at least one, if not more, teenagers perched upon them like sparrows. All the wooden seats were occupied, and many people were sitting on the tables.

The manner in which everyone thronged together emphasized their discomfiture, because it revealed their instinctive reliance on strength of numbers. Worse still, each voice in the crowded chamber seemed to be demanding of its neighbors news, but nobody appeared to have any, and the panic mounted, as ignorance fueled the flame of fear in every chest. This was not a merry babble; it was the clamor of an emergency.

Knowing it was futile, as there was surely no vacant place in the whole room, Remus cast about him for a seat, not wishing to stand through what might be a long evening, and not wanting to be separated from the herd, at any rate. To his surprise, he spotted that Sirius, James, and Peter, who had arrived before him, had somehow managed to save him a position on a sofa cushion on the far side of the common room.

Since everybody congregated in the common room was seated, it was easy for Remus to navigate a pathway through the chamber, and, within seconds, he was wedged on a cushion between a shaking Peter, who was chomping on his fingernails, and James, who, like Sirius, appeared less exuberant than usual.

"Do you know what's going on?" squeaked Peter at Remus as he plopped onto the sofa.

"No," he answered. Then, he leaned over, and addressed Marlene, who was situated next to James, sharing a cushion with Mary Macdonald and Sharon Gray, "Marlene, Sean requested that I tell you that he will walk with you tomorrow evening, instead of tonight, because he doesn't think that students will be permitted out of their common rooms, and he doesn't want either of you to get in trouble, or anything."

"I suspected as much," observed Marlene, "but it's nice to know for sure."

The last word had barely left Marlene's lips when the portrait of the Fat Lady slammed open, and Professor McGonagall marched into the Gryffindor common room, her face stonier than usual. However, her wrath was clearly not incited by them, for she didn't bark at anyone to get off the furniture arms or the tables before she subtracted points from Gryffindor as a penalty, and when she reached the center of the common room, she ordered them to be quiet in a manner less abrasive then was typical with her, although she needn't have bothered demanding silence, because when the students saw her enter, they immediately identified her as a source of news they were thirsting to hear, and eyed her attentively, waiting for her update on what had rocked their schedule this day.

"Children, I understand that this will come as a shock to you," began Professor McGonagall once she was satisfied that they were sufficiently silent, and Remus' stomach churned at her words, and her tone, which was oddly delicate. She had never addressed her pupils as "children" before, and that alerted him to the fact that something terrifying and earth-shaking was going to follow more effectively than a flashing neon sign. "But Hogsmeade has been attacked by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and his Death Eater minions."

There was an instant uproar, as everybody screamed, gasped, or whispered their astonishment to their neighbors. Himself, he felt an incredible numbness, born of incredulity form inside him. Simply put, there was no way that Hogsmeade could be assailed by You-Know-Who and his lackeys.

The village was a haven, a place where Remus and everyone else in the third-year and above, went on the designated weekends for butterbeer and anything harder if they could manage it at Madam Rosmerta's, mountains of candy at Honeydukes, and prank equipment, if they were involved in the practical joke industry as James and Sirius were, at Zonko's. Like Hogwarts, it was a place where war wasn't meant to touch. It wasn't somewhere where people should be fighting and dying in their own streets in pools of their own blood and bodily fluid. Not that beings should be suffering and murdered in their own hometown anywhere, but it was even worse when it happened in a quaint location in the middle of the country, a village that contained so much history, and was almost like an arcadia, a true pastoral paradise, unmarred by the passage of time, until You-Know-Who came along with his cult of barbaric fanatics, and desecrated that to.

"Are the villagers okay?" seventh-year Nicole Carys, who was crammed with her best friend, Valerie Reynolds, and her boyfriend, Sebastian Hawkins, on the lounge chair diagonal to the sofa Remus was on, demanded, her eyes expanding. "My grandmother lives there, and I couldn't bear it if something happened to her!"

After this, several more teenagers chimed in, wondering about the safety of relatives and family friends that resided in Hogsmeade.

"Shut your mouths, all of you," growled Professor McGonagall after two minutes of chaos, and the hubbub subsided, allowing her to resume in a less hostile fashion, "Currently, the villagers are putting up an admirable defense of their homes, and their valor will not go unreinforced. Most of us professors will be Apparating there from outside the grounds within a few minutes, as soon as we are finished explaining the situation to our Houses. Professor Binns, Professor Kettleburn, and Mr. Filch will be in charge of the school in our absence, and they will contact the headmaster and the rest of is if the Death Eaters jeopardize it. The castle's ancient defenses as well as the ones my colleagues and I placed upon it this evening will guard you from harm until we arrive to counter a potential Death Eater assault. Still, because we are so near Hogsmeade, do not assume that just because you are within the sanctuary of these walls, no ill can befall you, since that, unfortunately, is not the case. Therefore, Professor Dumbledore has decreed that everybody is to remain within the confines of his or her common room until this threat is over, a circumstance that I will inform you has arrived, mind you. Prefects, you are responsible for ensuring that no student roams out of the common room. Dinner will be sent up here for you by the house-elves in a short time, so don't concern yourselves about that. Now, does anybody have any questions?"

She seemed to be in a hurry to depart, for she pivoted, and was at the portrait hole within seconds, but she wasn't able to leave just yet, for Nicole Carys' hand had shot into the air, and she shouted, "Professor, are we permitted to fight?"

"I just informed you that pupils are to remain in their common rooms, Miss Carys," snapped Professor McGonagall, whirling around to glare at the seventeen-year-old. "I suggest that you learn to focus on what your instructors say if you have any desire to pass your N.E.W.T's."

"I know you did." Nicole's chin stuck out, so that her whole head was tilted back, causing her long hair, which was bound into a ponytail with a crimson ribbon that she had worn ever since her older brother had been murdered a year ago by Death Eaters, to cascade down her back. "However, I'm overage, as are the other four seventh-years in this room, so I thought that the rules might be different for us, Professor."

"Well, you thought wrong," McGonagall educated her crisply. "You and your peers are to remain in your common room, Miss Carys."

"I'm overage," repeated Nicole obstinately, and Remus gasped at her audacity. Nobody with enough sense to fill a peanut shell ever contradicted the Head of Gryffindor, unless they wanted to be beheaded. "Therefore, I can fight if I want to. The law dictates that it is so, and you know it."

"People will die in this battle!" Professor McGonagall's nostrils flared. "I won't have you risking your life without fully comprehending what you are doing, and you certainly won't do so unless the war zone moves over here."

"You can't stop me," Nicole declared, as everyone in the common room gaped at her, marveling at her decision to debate with the Head of their House, when the young woman had to know how temperamental the older one was. "Since the law allows me to fight, I am entitled to do so, and I will, with or without your consent. My life is mine, and I'll lose it as I want to!"

"I don't have time for this," muttered Professor McGonagall, her mouth at its thinnest. "Well, on your own head be it! Anyone overage may accompany the other professors and me into Hogsmeade, although I pray that they will have the prudence to stay here, where it is safe, instead."

"Safety is over rated," shrugged Nicole's boyfriend, Sebastian Hawkins, as he shoved himself out of the lounge chair, along with Valerie Reynolds. He, Nicole, and Valerie crossed the silent chamber, and went to stand behind Professor McGonagall, as the other two seventh-years exchanged glances, and then rose to join the congregation at the door as well.

Scowling her displeasure at the foolhardiness of her charges, Professor McGonagall stomped out of the common room, with the five seventh-years on her heels. As the seventh-years sailed out after her, Remus thought that none of them had ever appeared as attractive as they did now, with their heads held high, not turning to look back over their shoulders, eager to fight and die to protect others. There was the glamour of a lost, but noble cause attached to them, and, to his surprise, Remus wanted nothing more than to dart through the portrait hole after them, but he couldn't because he was underage, and wasn't permitted to stand up for his fellow human beings in the same way they were. Instead, he had to sit here, like all the other Gryffindors, trapped in this prison of a common room, while others battled impossible odds, and perished because of their courage to save him, and those like him. It was the personification of injustice, he ranted inwardly.

Perhaps, the rest of the teenagers congregated in the common room harbored similar sentiments, for nobody spoke, and nobody even glanced at one another. Instead, they all just sat in their respective locations, as motionless as statues, but nowhere near as serene, for Remus didn't doubt that everybody was combating inner turmoil as severe as his own. As he sat there, he gazed out the castle windows, studying the dying sun, which was engaged in one final valiant but ultimately fruitless war to illuminate the earth before it surrendered to the inevitable, and let a darkness descend over the planet, offering the world one last glimpse of its full splendor, as it stained the sky mauve, lilac, and tangerine in its death throes.

For some reason, the fading sun reminded him irresistibly of the group of optimistic seventh-years who had rushed out of the common room earlier, but that was not a metaphor that he wished to extend any further, and, yet, however much he strove to banish it from his mind, it lodged firmly there, as the sun, nearing the end of its day lifespan, tainted the heavens scarlet, the hue of the blood that was now spilling only a kilometer or so in the distance in Hogsmeade…

It was a relief when the sun disappeared entirely, and, gradually, the moon and stars rose to take its place, as the supper McGonagall had promised materialized, by the fire, which seemed to be blazing more brightly now that the sun had set, and the sky had mostly been conquered by blackness, because all the tables were occupied with students perching on them.

Normally, adolescents could be depended on to make a rabid lurch toward any victuals that arrived in their vicinity, trampling over anybody who impeded their progress in the process, but now, no one got to their feet to snatch a chicken wing, or a carrot, and, even those who were within arm's reach of the food did not snake out a hand to grab anything to snack on.

Still, all of them were motionless, and none of them displayed the slightest interest in the food that had appeared. In fact, some people did not even seem to have noticed its arrival. Obviously, everyone was too concerned about the citizens of Hogsmeade, and the survival of the teachers and students who had gone to their aid to even contemplate the absurd notion of munching on food at the moment.

Time moved in an excruciatingly slow manner, with every second containing a decade, and every minute, a century, and every hour, a millennium. In what seemed like five millennia, but was really only five hours, drowsiness began to leaden Remus' eyes, but he resolutely kept them open, determined to be awake when Professor McGonagall and the seventh-years returned from the battle, because the very least he could do in his useless position was not fall asleep on his watch. If the yawns and stretches of his House mates were any indication, Remus wasn't the only one who was exhausted, but refusing to give into the temptation for slumber.

Finally, at half past midnight, McGonagall returned with all the seventh-years, except Nicole Carys. Worry coursed through Remus as he noted that all of them had scratches along their faces, and had torn robes, and Valerie had a black eye, while Sebastian's cheeks were peppered with bruises. Yet, none of them seemed to be concerned about their conditions. The seventh-years all had tears streaming down their cheeks, and even Professor McGonagall's face possessed an ashen sheen.

Where was Nicole? Remus wondered. He prayed that nothing horrible had happened to her, and that it was only post-battle trauma that was wracking through those who had just returned from Hogsmeade, because, although he didn't know Nicole very well at all, because she was three years his senior, Remus didn't like to think of anyone at Hogwarts perishing, nonetheless someone who had been determined to help others at her own cost.

From the furrowed foreheads of many of the chamber's occupants, most of them had detected Nicole's absence, but before anyone could inquire into it, Professor McGonagall stated in a quavering voice, "The Death Eaters have retreated, and they have sustained such losses that we believe they won't return anytime in the near future. Anyway, their objective was to bait Dumbledore out of the school, so that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named could eliminate him, but they failed dismally in their goal, because He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was unable to kill Dumbledore, and so I doubt they'll be back anytime soon. However, the village has been greatly damaged by this battle. Healers from St. Mungo's are arriving there now to tend to the wounded, and Madam Promfery has gone over to assist them. Tomorrow, students in the third-year and above will be invited to go down to the village, and aid the Healers in their duties."

Here, she paused to glance significantly around the common room, and then added sternly, "I hope that many of you will show up to help, because nothing becomes a person more than a sense of obligation and compassion for one's fellows, and an understanding that one should care for the needs of our injured brethren, least the conditions we don't pity one day become our own. If you are interested in assisting the Healers, kindly arrive in the entrance hall by eight o'clock tomorrow morning. We will be returning from the village at five in the evening."

Her announcement concluded, she waited for a moment to learn if anyone had questions, and when she discovered that they didn't, she pivoted on her heel, and hastened out of the common room, blowing her nose in her silk handkerchief as she departed. Seeing this, Remus wondered again what had happened to Nicole with her pretty, vivid red ribbon.

However, he had no real opportunity to consider this, for James established to him, Sirius, and Peter, "We're going down to the village tomorrow, and doing whatever we can to help out."

"Thanks ever so much for stating the obvious," snorted Sirius, as Remus bobbed his head in affirmation, thinking that there was no way he wouldn't care for the wounded in Hogsmeade as best he could. After all, it was his duty as a reasonably moral human, he decided.

Before James could retort, however, Peter coughed, and squeaked, "Do you reckon that it's safe to go?"

"Who cares if it's perilous or not?" Sirius eyed the other boy as if he were curdled milk, or rancid meat. "The danger is what makes it fun, you imbecile."

"Yeah, that's correct." Waving a hand at the battered seventh-years, James contributed vehemently, "Besides, you didn't see them asking if it was safe before they entered the line of fire, because they were no cowards. They recognized that they had a job to do fighting evil, and they did it without complaint, and without reluctance. The very least we can do is attend to those who have been injured worse than they have in the struggle against You-Know-Who and his dark servants."

"If you say so," whimpered an unconvinced Peter, and Remus took pity upon him.

"Peter, it won't be too risky, if Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall sanctioned it, as they are obliged to ensure our safety while we are at school," he educated the quivering lad beside him, whose shaking subsided considerably when he heard this, and learned that his own skin probably wouldn't be in too much jeopardy, as that was, apparently, all he was worried about.

None of the other three had a chance to respond to this comment, though, because everyone in the sixth-year and below was clustered around Valerie, who was recounting through her sobs, how she had witnessed her best friend's death, while Sebastian gazed morosely into the embers of the once mighty fire, his eyes pooling with water.

As he, James, Sirius, and Peter pressed around the wailing Valerie, as well, Remus heard about how Nicole had fought bitterly against the Death Eaters alongside her best mate, and how they had been doing well enough considering that they were familiar with a great deal less magic than their foes, but how, during the battle, they had stumbled across Nicole's grandmother dueling with a pair of Death Eaters. Nicole's grandma was losing her duel, and her adversaries were about to dispatch her, when Nicole had intervened, and had bought the elderly woman enough time to flee…at the price of her own existence.

"Nicky always swore that she wasn't going to let any Death Eater murder another one of her family members," wept Valerie, as she stroked the bright red ribbon she had collected from Nicole's corpse, which still had a strand of millimeter-thin hair clinging to it, and was about all that she had left of her deceased comrade now. "You see, she didn't want her heart to be broken anymore, so she ripped apart mine and Sebastian's by dying to save her grandmother…Oh, that sounds awful, but I don't mean it that way…It's just, why did she have to choose between herself and her grandmother, because that was no real choice at all, and now her grandma will die of guilt, too…I hate those damn Death Eaters, I absolutely despise them!"

At this juncture, Valerie buried her nose in the crimson ribbon, as if to recall by scent her best friend. "It still smells like her shampoo, and everything, even after that dreadful battle," she moaned when she did so. "Oh, God, oh, God…"

Suddenly, Remus couldn't bear to look upon this raw grief any longer, and he turned away, striding briskly over to the other side of the common room, where he stood by a window, pressing his head against the cool glass, hoping that its icy temperature would soothe the wild thoughts chasing each other through his mind, as though they were engaged in a particularly exciting game of tag.

He couldn't comprehend why Valerie would appeal to God in her anguish. After all, what sort of God permitted innocent people, like the inhabitants of Hogsmeade, to be assaulted and slaughtered in their own residences by a gang of psychopaths? What sort of God allowed good beings like Nicole Carys to be killed by those with a malfunctioning moral compass that only pointed south?

Not one worth worshipping, he determined acidly, because if He had the power to, and He hadn't been merciful enough to save those deserving of rescue, then He was soulless, heartless, and less than human, and if He didn't have the ability to do so, then He wasn't so omnipotent, after all, and there was no profit in glorifying him.

No, Remus Lupin would not rely upon any feeble or indifferent God for salvation that would never come. He would find a way to change the horrors of what was occurring in his world by himself. Somehow, he would bring about the demise of You-Know-Who, and all those who abetted him, because he was going to ensure that no other innocent was killed, because of You-Know-Who's sadistic delight in murdering and torturing civilians, and he wouldn't allow everyone who was as vibrant as Nicole's red ribbon to be slain in war, as Nicole herself had been.

Better yet, he wouldn't be alone in this endeavor, because James and Sirius would join him, since they had wanted nothing more than to tend to the wounded, and Peter would copy whatever the other two boys did. It was as simple as that. You-Know-Who's days were numbered, because the rising generation would not stand his tyranny. They were the future, and they wanted to inhabit a world untainted by his vile presence, and they would triumph, not because God was on their side, or because their cause was the embodiment of justice, but because they had to if they wished to survive, which Remus did, and you couldn't live long in a world where you could be killed at any moment.


	17. Chapter 17

Author's Note: Wow, it has been a dreadfully long time since I updated last. (Smiles placatingly at any nettled readers she is fortunate to have left.) I'm really sorry about the delay, but I had a massive writer's block the size of Russia to contend with coupled with much stress when my grandmother had a stroke, my cousin got into a car accident with a drunk driver on his way to visit her, and typical college application nightmare galore. Now, though, I am back and this chapter hopefully will not be too rotten.

I'm sorry this chapter is a little heavy on the romance again if that is not your thing, but next chapter won't be like this. I promise you that what I am setting up is necessary for the entirety of my story, however, so please be patient with me. Thanks.

Disclaimer: If my name is J.K. Rowling, I've been putting the wrong name on all my mid-terms. (How humiliating for me if that is so.)

Reviews: I appreciate all reviews I am lucky enough to get from anyone who is still interested by this tale.

Badges and Hearts

When fifteen-year-old Remus Lupin rolled out of bed and stumbled like a blind drunkard downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast one Saturday morning in early August, his mum thrust a letter with the Hogwarts crest stamped on the envelope in jade ink, commenting, "An owl dropped this off for you an hour ago, dear. It's heavier than normal."

She was right, Remus realized as he accepted the proffered piece of correspondence, slipped open the envelope, and yanked out and read the parchment tucked within. This year, the note weighed about four times as much as usual. In fact, if it were any heavier, it could be utilized in weight-lifting. The reason behind the extra ounces was clarified when it was revealed that there was a second letter enclosed in the envelope along with the booklist. After handing the paper detailing which tomes he required this year to his mother, Remus, his brow knitted in bemusement, read the other note.

His bafflement was only elevated, rather than alleviated, when he discovered that it was trying to communicate to him that he had the distinction of being made a prefect.

"Prefect," he whispered, stupefied. No, he couldn't be prefect, his stunned brain protested feebly, as he collapsed, his knees as shaky as pudding, into a chair at the kitchen table. Only individuals who had an aura of authority—who could compel other's to heed them, instead of chasing futilely after a miscreant whom one was insanely attracted to just as a moth was drawn to the light that would ultimately murder it—were inducted into the august rank of prefect. "I've been made a prefect."

By establishing as much aloud, he hoped that he would be able to force that tidbit of crucial data to permeate his thick skull. However, this endeavor was not as successful as he would have liked it to have been. Therefore, he was not exactly devastated when his dad snorted, "Don't tell me that you're surprised, son."

"I'm not surprised, Dad," responded Remus, his numb lips somehow managing to shape the words and choke them out without any instruction from his still-absent-without-leave mind. As a matter of fact, surprised described him as well as a banquet did a moldy crust of bread. "I just feel like I was run over by a train a moment ago, that's all."

"Come on, you had to have been anticipating this," his father chuckled." I know that your mum and I have."

"You have?" stuttered Remus, who was in such a shocked state that he could only gawk like a wet-behind-the-ears journalist who had just learned that the Minister of Magic took graft, and echo the remarks voiced by others.

"Of course I did," Mr. Lupin confirmed briskly, biting into a sausage while his spouse placed a steaming platter of fried eggs and sausages before Remus, who could not yet summon the intense coordination it required to navigate a forkful of victuals to his mouth, and who, thus, did not touch the meal set in front of him. "Since there is a new prefect of each gender chosen from every House in the fifth-year, that meant that either you, Black, Potter, or Pettigrew would be selected. Now, your buddies Black and Potter are hardly models of discipline or academic diligence, and, so, despite their good marks, they were not likely to be chosen over someone who was not only an excellent pupil, but also a rule abiding one—someone like you, that is. As for Pettigrew, well, he's not about to win any awards for his towering genius any time in the next millennium, and it is rather astonishing that he has mastered the art of spelling his name correctly. Frankly, it is amazing that they persist in passing him every year, and that has been a cause for me to question the standards of magical education in Britain."

"Oh, I see how I was chosen by default now." After considering his dad's statement for a minute, Remus nodded his comprehension.

"That's not what your father was implying, dear," his mother reassured him, glowering at her husband simultaneously. "What he was saying is that your wonderful grades and exceptional conduct rendered you an obvious choice for prefect, and any staff member with a quarter of a functioning eyeball could spot as much without the aid of spectacles."

"Exactly, that's precisely what I meant," affirmed Mr. Lupin sardonically. "Now, if we're finished putting words in my mouth, I wanted to inform Remus myself that being a prefect carriers with it many great opportunities. After all, I never would have dated his mother if we hadn't both been made prefects and met then."

"We met before that," his wife corrected, smiling. "We had been in the same classes for years before that. You just didn't notice me until we had to attend all the meetings together."

"And I realized how pretty you were," added Mr. Lupin, his lips quirking upward.

"Then you started escorting me back to my common room after meetings." Mrs. Lupin was beaming reminiscently, and, staring at her, her offspring judged from the glimmer in her eyes that was reflected in her spouse's across the table that not only did true love exist, but his parents had been fortunate enough to stumble across it. Perhaps not all romances were tragedies after all, as he had supposed. "Then you finally had the nerve to ask me on a date to Hogsmeade with you on Valentine's Day. You even took me into Madam Puddifoot's with all those pink confetti throwing cherubim, although you confessed to me later that you loathed that teashop. That's when I knew that I could spend every day of my life with you, and not regret it."

"Maybe you'll find the love of your life at a prefect meeting, too," suggested Mr. Lupin, averting his eyes from his wife and riveting them on his child at last.

"I doubt it," Remus mumbled glumly. The blatant affection that would have been apparent to anyone who had an intelligence quotient that was not around room temperature reminded him with a jab in the chest of all that he yearned for which he would never possess. "Not unless Marlene is in attendance, which is not probable, since both Lily Evans and her best mate, Alice Wright, are better and less troublesome pupils than she is."

"That Firetop really has stolen your heart," observed Mr. Lupin, shaking his head while he ate his fried eggs.

Remus could not reply to this pronouncement, so he only consumed the rest of his breakfast in silence, gazing at his new shiny badge with the proud Gryffindor lion superimposed on it and reflecting on how he did not deserve the honor that had foolishly been bestowed upon him.

This feeling of inadequacy was shoved into proper perspective, however, on the train ride to Hogwarts on September first. After bidding farewell to his mum and dad on the platform, where they had come to see him off, he nervously headed down the train corridors until he arrived outside the compartment where the Head Boy and Head Girl addressed the prefects at the outset of every academic year.

Taking a deep breath to steel himself as if he were about to plunge into the fathoms of the Arctic Ocean naked, Remus opened the door and entered. As he settled himself beside Lily, who clearly had been selected as the other Gryffindor prefect, he glanced furtively at his environs and concluded that the new Ravenclaw prefects were Sean McKinnion and Debra Prescott, the Hufflepuff ones were Frank Longbottom and Jessica Andrews, and the Slytherin ones were Mulciber and the icily beautiful Lucretia Forbes, who despised anyone whose family did not have a pedigree as pure as hers.

Yet, Remus was unable to do anything more than absorb the identity of the new prefects when the recently appointed Head Boy, a seventh-year Ravenclaw whom Remus believed was named Dennis Stewardson, and Head Girl, a boulder-faced Slytherin called Claudia Sullivan, rose and took turns lecturing the congregation upon the honor the school had provided the prefects with when they had been chosen, and how they, therefore, owed it to Hogwarts to fulfill their duties with distinction.

In fact, Remus was about to wail that he was not the man for the task and could they please designate someone else as the fifth-year Gryffindor prefect, when, mercifully, Dennis and Claudia completed their harangue and dismissed their subdued underlings. Envisioning how he would never have delusions of adequacy or perceive himself as being more useful than a lifeboat with a hole in its bottom again, he exited the compartment and strolled down the passageways until he glimpsed James and Sirius monkeying around in a compartment in the middle of the train while Peter cheered them both on.

With a headshake, Remus ruminated that although they hadn't even set a toe on school property, James and Sirius were already up to their typical antics, as he stepped into the compartment and plopped down on the cushion to the right of Peter and across from Sirius, who was pummeling his best friend in the back playfully.

"Ah, so the Perfect Prefect decides that he can afford the stigma of associating with us riffraff, despite the fact that we are rebellious vagabonds," teased James when he detected Remus' arrival. He disengaged himself from Sirius and cuffed the other lad upside the head in retaliation. "I'm touched."

"You're touched in the head," Remus educated him wryly. Still, he found himself grinning. James Potter always had that impact on him. The other teenager's sense of the absurd appealed to him for some reason that he could not articulate, even to himself. Maybe it was Chet's legacy.

"I probably am. Lunacy flows in the veins of pureblood families owing to too much innerbreeding," admitted James, tossing a Bertie Botts Every Flavor Bean into the air and catching it on his tongue on its descending arc. There, he displayed it for a few seconds as if it were a trophy. Then, he reeled his extended tongue back into his mouth and gobbled up his candy. "Anyway, I'm a real softie at heart, also. You see, I knew you would show up even though you have an awesome new rank to lord over us, because we swore that we'd be best mates forever, and so we'll never betray each other. That's why I saved you a pack of Cauldron Cakes and some Chocolate Frogs."

"Thanks," Remus told him, snatching the snacks that his comrade lobbed at him and ripping open the Cauldron Cakes. He popped one whole patty into his mouth and murmured as he chewed, "Gosh, I'm starving. Lord, I didn't even notice it when I was at the meeting, but now I do, and I am convinced that I could eat a troll."

"So you're interested in hunting and devouring my lovely cousin Bellatrix" quipped Sirius. "You know, Remus, I'm not positive that such behavior is befitting of a prefect. After all, cannibalism, for some bizarre reason, is frowned upon by most of society."

"It's not cannibalism if she really is a troll," argued James through a mouthful of Chocolate Frog, "since Remus is not a troll."

"Right you are," Sirius conceded, "for the first and probably only time in your whole pathetic existence. Would you care for a souvenir to commemorate the occasion?"

Before his companion could retort, the door swung open, and Marlene swaggered in. "So, Potter," she announced as she slid into the vacant seat next to the adolescent she addressed. "There's a seditious rumor circulating through the student body that you're the just instated Gryffindor Quidditch Captain."

"In this particular instance, the grapevine has it correct," James declared flippantly, now munching on a Cauldron Cake. "Alarming, isn't it? I might even start crediting gossip after this."

"Congratulations." Mimicking James, Marlene kept her tone casual. "So, have you worked out when the trials are? I'd like to be on the team again this year."

"The trials will probably be sometime in late September or early October at the latest, but I haven't determined the precise date. When I do, it will be posted on the common room bulletin board with all the other rubbish about rewards for returning misplaced items and offers to swap Frog Cards." Here, Remus spotted that James shot Marlene a surreptitious glance before amending, "However, I don't see why you have to try out, Marlene. I've witnessed you play for years, and I am aware of your talents as a Chaser. There is no way I am kicking you off the team."

"I'll still show up and have a try-out," Marlene insisted. "After all, I don't want any idiots blathering on about you maintaining old faces on the team without ascertaining that new blood wouldn't do it any good."

"Suit yourself." James offered a languid shrug. Eyeing the area where her neck met her chest with too much interest for Remus' approval or comfort, he gestured at a silver heart necklace that she had hanging down her front and inquired, "Is that new?"

"Yes," responded Marlene, leaning closer to the lad she conversed with under the pretense of permitting him to inspect her jewelry more thoroughly. This action prompted a tidal wave of jealous ire to swamp Remus, who abruptly had the urge to punch James in the nose. Speaking of Potter's nose, he had never observed how it really was too massive for good looks before. "Do you like it?"

"It's gorgeous," James answered, grabbing onto the adornment and scrutinizing it as he provided this analysis. "The sapphires on it really enhance your eyes, if you ask me."

"It's funny you should make that comment," crowed Marlene, her lapis lazuli eyes glistening. "That's what my boyfriend Sean McKinnion told me when he purchased it for me over the summer."

"Oh well, Ravenclaws are always correct, aren't they?" James scowled, obviously displeased by the reference to her boyfriend. "That's not really front page news in the _Daily Prophet_ now, is it?"

"Not if you haven't been residing under a rock for a century-and-a-half, but I know something that is," remarked Marlene coyly.

"What?" James arched his eyebrows, voicing the inquiry that was burning on Remus' lips.

"There is another rumor that you want to be Chaser, not a Seeker, this year," she replied.

"That's also true," confessed James. When all of the compartment's occupants gaped at him as if he had just proclaimed himself King of Jupiter, he continued defensively, "People can be skilled at more than one position in that sport, so don't stare at me as if all of your jaws have broken. A little variety is the spice that renders life worthwhile. Besides, as Captain, I certainly am entitled to decide which role on the team I want to fill, don't you think?"

"Of course," Marlene simpered immediately. "Well, it will be awesome being Chaser with you, assuming I make the cut, that is."

"Yeah, I look forward to playing with you, and, don't worry, you'll make the team." While James established as much, the adolescent girl pushed herself to her feet and departed with a final wave at Remus.

"Wow, she's smoking," muttered James once he was confident that the teenager he was referring to was out of earshot, "and I'm not just talking about her hair."

"She's grown quite nicely over the summer break, and her eyes were always noteworthy," Sirius allowed, as willing as ever to access the aesthetic merits of various females.

"Not to mention that she has charming hair," contributed James, who was still studying the door through which Marlene had exited, as if he were assured that she would be reappearing there any second. "I love red hair. Crimson locks are very me."

"How very Gryffindor of you to be so obsessed with scarlet," drawled Sirius. "Does this new adoration of Marlene Hayes mean that you are finally over Lily Evans the Snob?"

"I don't know." James wrenched his eyes away from the compartment door and gazed around at them all with an uncharacteristically bleak expression inscribed upon his features. "Does anyone ever get over their first love?"

"Come to your senses, mate, because they're starting to get very lonely without you," scoffed Sirius. "Teenagers don't fall in love—they fall in lust. Currently, you have the hots for Marlene, who returns your regard if the manner in which she was flirting with you awhile ago was any indicator. Any other advice you need, feel free to ask. I only charge fifteen Knuts a sentence as a consulting fee, which is three whole Knuts cheaper than my closest competitor."

"Pity she's dating McKinnion," griped James, and Remus could feel his stomach knotting as his hands balled into fists. Marlene was not to be discussed like this, ever. As far as he was concerned, it was atrocious enough that she was going out with Sean, but it would be infinitely more infuriating if she commenced dating James sometime before the universe contracted upon them all again. Every kiss the pair of them exchanged, every admiring glance, every tender stroke of an arm, would be a dagger in the heart for Remus: an agonizing reminder of all that he longed for that would never pass between him and Marlene.

At that instant, Remus recognized that he had a response to James' haunting query. No, one's first love never perished, not really. Somehow, he was aware with the frigid, foreboding sensation in his innards that always accompanied any accurate premonition, that he would never forget the potent love he harbored for Marlene Elizabeth Hayes, and if he ever was psychotic enough to fall in love with anyone else on the planet, it would only be because something about them reminded him of her. Yes, a first love never died, but it could be resurrected or reincarnated in spite of this.

"Who cares if she's dating McKinnion already?' Sirius dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "Girls can go out with multiple males now. Women were adamant about attaining that right recently, much to my mum's screaming distaste, although she's a sour old shrew, so she is not one to rant about women neglecting their 'proper' place in the world. Then again, she just likes to shriek about stuff, so that explains her hypocritical conduct."

"Mmm," James commented, watching the scenery outside the window flicker by as he contemplated the ways he could convince Marlene to date him, most likely. "Lily truly might get envious if I began going steady with someone as pretty as Marlene. Hey, Remus, you're friends with Marlene, right?"

"Last time I checked, yeah," Remus ground out, wishing he had the courage to snap at his companion to leave the girl he loved alone unless he wanted his hand chopped off. "She is my friend, which means you had better not hurt her, because I have a brotherly concern for her."

"Relax. I'm not going to hex her, even if she does turn me down when I ask her out, as though anyone could do that when I'm so handsome and lovable." James rolled his eyes at what he deemed as the ludicrousness of the other's remark. "I was just wondering if her relationship with McKinnion is progressing smoothly."

"I reckon it is," Remus informed him, electing not to admit that he was not as up-to-date on Marlene's love life as he was on other aspects of her existence since hearing about her romance with Sean caused him to be visited with the overpowering compulsion to smack someone, preferably Sean, in the face. "I mean, they've been an item since the third-year, and he bought her that necklace over the summer, so they seem to be getting along well enough and better than some married couples do."

"I see." As he bobbed his head to demonstrate his understanding of this logic, the mulish look left James' features, replaced by the everyday carefree one, as he switched the topic to Quidditch and how awesome the Gryffindor team would be this year with him as its captain, who would lead them to victory in every match, culminating in their winning of the Quidditch Cup.

That term, as September chilled into October and October in turn surrendered to November, and the leaves toppled from their tree branches and decayed on the dirt beneath everyone's shoes, Remus noted when he wasn't preoccupied with his homework, which was the most onerous it had ever been now that O.W.L. year was upon them all, that Marlene and James spent an increasing amount of time together. In the common room, they would engage in games of chess and Exploding Snap when they had never done so before, and they would often return from practice, flushed, later than the rest of their teammates.

Yet, Remus couldn't prove that anything non-platonic was being shared between the pair of them. After all, Sean appeared to detect no burgeoning affair between the two: he never seemed to notice the fashion in which Marlene chatted to James in the hallways between lessons, and he was apparently oblivious to how she bent closer to the Captain of the Gryffindor team, laughing more shrilly than was usual with her, flouncing her mane of hair about, and brushing against the male she conversed with more times than necessity required.

In his less charitable moments, Remus suspected that love was blinding Sean to the truth of Marlene's actions. That was a rational assumption, he reasoned to himself. What else apart from excessive affection could cause a mentally agile Ravenclaw to behave in such a foolish manner?

Still, he couldn't prevent his treacherous heart from sympathizing with the other boy. After all, love was transforming him into an imbecile as surely as it was transfiguring Sean into one. What besides from a misguided devotion could prompt him to crush upon a female who had explicitly announced to him three years ago that she did not desire to be anything more than friends with him?

Yeah, love was nothing more than a perverse fidelity to another who repeatedly shredded one's heart into a million fractions and tore one's romantic daydreams, meanwhile persuading the victim that they were in a state of bliss, much as the tenth beer provided the alcoholic with the merry illusion that it was relieving the drinker of their problems when it was only multiplying them. However, Remus had also gleaned another important fact about love.

He had discovered that it was fruitless to deny it. Love never made anything simpler; in fact, it normally rendered affairs more complex. Still, it had to be acknowledged for what is was, because, despite the folly it generally entailed, it was better to love than to refrain from doing so. Without love, the soul would whither like plants in a drought, since love was the foundation of human interaction. Remus was cognizant of the horrors of being alone—he knew all about the terrors of facing his transfiguration into a werewolf and the aftermath in the hospital wing without anyone to console him or motivate him when he resolve flagged—and he hated it. It was far preferable to be proven an idiot in matters of the heart than to travel through life in isolation.

For awhile, he envisioned that he had found a kindred spirit in this viewpoint in Sean since the other adolescent had not dumped Marlene yet, although it was clear to anyone with the brains a dim deer had been furnished with that she was flirting with James Potter whenever possible. However, when the first Quidditch match of the season, Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff, arrived, Remus learned that his assumption, like so many were, was off base.

As James had predicted for weeks to anyone who would listen, which was a rather large contingency, given that he was an extremely popular boy, Gryffindor emerged triumphant from the game. In their post-match euphoria, Marlene and James kissed each other—smack on the lips in front of the entire stadium in a gesture that could not be interpreted in anything but an erotic light.

Aiming to reach Marlene and steer her back to the common room for the victory celebration before an irate Sean could confront her, Remus jostled a path through the excited multitudes until he stepped onto the emerald grass of the pitch. To his discomfiture, though, he saw that Sean had joined his girlfriend already.

As he neared the couple, he heard Sean seething, "Heavens, Marlene, I can't believe this! If you wanted to ditch me, you could have at least possessed the decency required to do so in private, not in front of the whole cursed school by swapping spit with Potter like that!"

"I'm sorry," Marlene snapped, not sounding overly apologetic to Remus. "I wasn't thinking, okay, Sean? If I had been, I wouldn't have done it, I swear."

"No, you weren't thinking," agreed Sean coolly, and Remus wondered if he ought to pivot and leave the couple to their spat, but the only problem with this ingenious scheme was that his obstinate legs refused to move, forcing him to remain privy to this highly personal exchange. Well, if Marlene and Sean hadn't desired for everyone in Hogwarts to be apprised of the sordid details of their relationship, they should have lowered their volume, so that individuals in Canada wouldn't be deaf as a result. "You were feeling. You're more attracted to Potter than you are to me, and you acted impulsively on your emotions. I get it. I'm not stupid, even if I might have seemed like a dupe to you. We're over, then."

"We're over like that?" stammered Marlene, and Remus could see her eyes expanding in alarm. "You're willing to chuck out two years of our lives faster than you'd throw out a slab of rancid beef?"

"Oh, don't pretend that you don't want to do that!" Sean's mouth twisted into a contemptuous sneer that Remus had never glimpsed before, not that he was too intimate with the other teenager.

"I don't—"

"You're determined to feign innocence, are you? How adorable and childish!" Sean plowed over her protest in his wrath, fire burning away the daggers of ice that had sheathed his tone previously. "I never knew you wished to be an actress, but then again, I never really was all that familiar with you, as this incidence proves. After all, when Conan cautioned me about how you were behaving with Potter, I told him to cast a Silencing Charm on himself because I never imagined that my Marlene would cheat on me. Ridiculous, granted, but that's what I thought. Not now, though. All I can say is your name fits you. It's a variation of Magdalene, and Mary Magdalene was a prostitute."

"She was also brave enough to show up at Christ's Crucifixion when a vast majority of his disciples didn't, and He revealed His resurrection to her before He did to Peter and the others," riposted Marlene, her eyes smoldering. "She was holier than you'll ever be, so you've got no right to judge her!"

Ignoring her outburst, Sean glanced over her shoulder, spotted Remus, and pronounced with exaggerated civility, "Ah, wonderful, there's your 'friend' Remus, Marlene. You can throw yourself all over him while he escorts you back to your common room, where Potter can start groping you all over again like you plainly want him to do."

With that final barrage, Sean stalked off, probably to seek solace from his closest buddy, Conan Dooley, and Remus strode the last few feet that separated him from Marlene, who had tears sparkling in her eyes like stars in a wintry midnight sky.

"He had no right to accuse me of being a loose woman," growled Marlene, swiping furiously at her moist eyes as her comrade patted her on the back.

"Well, in all fairness, you did kiss James in front of a whole stadium of people," Remus reminded her as gingerly as possible.

"I suppose that it would be pointless to establish that it was James who kissed me, not the other way around," she hissed, pulling away from him in her temper.

"You've been flirting with him since school started again," was his unsympathetic response. "There's no way you couldn't have wanted him to kiss you."

"That's so like a male to state. When a guy has several girls that he is messing around with, he is lauded for his conquests; when a female acts in a similar fashion with men, she is called a score of cruel epithets of which the kindest is 'disreputable'," she huffed. "And when a man rapes a woman, all he has to claim in his own defense is that she was scantily clad and, therefore, begging for it. Males bemoan that we are temptresses as if girls aren't drawn to the opposite gender, but it's their own fault that they haven't figured out how to keep their blasted hands to themselves as women do. Once the allegedly stronger sex learns to control itself, humanity will be loads better off!"

Following this diatribe on his gender, Remus was quiet for a respectful interval before inquiring tentatively, "Do you want to go up to the party in the common room?"

"Sure." A tiny grin split Marlene's features as they walked across the pitch and up to the castle together. "I wish to inform James that I'm through with Sean, so that he can ask me out now."

Silence descended between them as they climbed up to the school, and, as they entered the building, Marlene exploded suddenly, "Maybe I am all those nasty terms they accuse women of being, since I did manipulate Sean to get to James, but I refuse to apologize because I did strive not to injure him too greatly."

"Really?" Remus endeavored to block out the skepticism from intruding upon his voice as they mounted the stairs that would begin them on their journey to the Gryffindor common room.

"For the record, that's true, Mr. Dubious," declared his companion. "Bear in mind that I was stringing James along for so long because I did not want to hurt Sean by dumping him. You should also reflect that I did my honest best to spare you some heartache." When Remus arched an eyebrow at her, she elaborated upon this idea, "Remember that I knew you loved me, and yet I never took advantage of that to acquire James, as I manipulated Sean's affections. I did so because I cared about you. Thus, I couldn't stand to see you wounded that way. You see, I do have a heart."

"That's what worries me," he grumbled dryly as they gave the Fat Lady the password and entered the common room, which was teeming with hordes of their House members rejoicing in the triumph on the Quidditch field. "It's the stuff that you do for love that scare me most of all, since you do your craziest work in its name."

"Doesn't love make us all lunatics?" Marlene contended, unfazed by his assertion. "Aren't many tragedies comprised of two young lovers who aren't able to be together and who commit suicide in the hope that they can be united in the hereafter?"

"A very idealistic and stupid notion that often afflicts the infatuated," observed Remus. "Well, you can go find James in this mayhem and uncover whether he truly is worth the tremendous price you paid for him. While you do that, I'll fetch myself a butterbeer to soothe my poor, frayed nerves."

"Do you imagine that you could strive to be cheerful and upbeat sometime?" giggled Marlene, as they split up and embarked on their separate quests to discover James or butterbeer, respectively.

"I will when you act mature and serious for a change." Whirling around to regard her, he returned the jibe.

"Fair enough," Marlene snickered, and Remus stared after her as she sauntered briskly over to James before he continued in his search for his beverage.


	18. Chapter 18

Author's Note: Personally, I don't think that this chapter is my best, because I have no idea how a person transforms into an animal, never having done so myself. (I'm crazy, but I'm not so psycho that I have delusions about being an animal other than a human.) Therefore, my description of the Marauders' transfiguration into Animagi isn't that awesome. Just keep in mind that there is little information on which to base my description off of, and, as such, have mercy upon pitiful me.

As promised, this chapter contains less in the way of romance, but (if I am as skilled at estimating how ideas actually turn out on paper as I like to tell myself I am) you shall see three chapters from now why I wrote what I did, although I don't swear as much, since my outline is always subject to revision.

Reviews: Like Sirius, I am a friendly dog, and I don't bite. If you put my story on your alert or favorites list, I urge you to review and tell me what you liked, so that I can try to provide you with some more of it. (I want happy readers, and I take anonymous reviews, so don't be shy.)

Disclaimer: Unless you're one of those poor beings who are so dumb that they ought never to enter a battle of wits since they're unarmed, you'll realize that I'm not J.K. Rowling, or else I would not have published on this website. Now that we've covered that, sit back, pop some popcorn, grab a Coke or Pepsi, and enjoy my mid-terms are over celebratory chapter:

Spring's Promises

"I've been thinking," James Potter announced one April day, while he, Remus, Sirius, Peter, and Marlene crammed together on a sofa near the open common room window that allowed the breeze and sunlight to trickle in on them all while they were imprisoned here in their castle tower, like princesses in a medieval romance awaiting chivalrous knights in glistening armor on stalwart steeds who would never come to rescue them from their confines, rummaging half-heartedly through the career brochures that had been stacked on tables in the common room and laboring to determine what they wanted to do with the rest of their lives.

"I can see how you, given that if the ancient aphorism that what one doesn't know can't injure one were true, you'd be invulnerable, might imagine that is a significant occurrence, but for those of us who do it all the time, it's a matter of minimal interest that, as such, is hardly worth the bother of mentioning," snickered Sirius, as he flipped idly through a pamphlet on an august career in the Misuse of Magic Office. With a mock contemplative tone, he added, "Hmm. This might be the job for me. I am such a rule-abider that it would be easy for me to force everyone else to conform to them, as well, hence the reason I was made a prefect this year."

"Do you even try to make sense?" Marlene shot him a scathing glance before facing James, whom she had been dating since the first Quidditch match of the season when Sean had dumped her, and pressing, "What was it you were thinking about, anyway? Everybody except Sirius, who doesn't matter as he is a git and a nobody, is very intrigued."

"I was just going to say that I've figured out what I'm going to do with all my free time once I graduate," replied James, and Remus resisted the temptation of altering the final clause to "assuming that I graduate."

"Let me guess," Sirius cut in, dropping the Misuse of Magic brochure on the carpet and scooping up one pertaining to an illustrious career in training security trolls, instead. "You intend to live off the large inheritance your mum and dad will bequeath to you when they fly onto a land where joys will never end."

"No, I'd like to be an Auror, just as Dad was," declared James, his tone implying this issue was as commonsensical as the fact that north was the opposite direction as south.

"You need top marks for that," Remus educated him in case he wasn't aware of this datum.

"I have them so far." James greeted this observation with a complacent shrug. "I'm sure that I'll do brilliantly on my O.W.L's this year, too. I am a marvelous test-taker."

"You'd better start studying harder then," warned Remus, feeling like the prophetess Cassandra advising the Trojans of their imminent demise, "because I hear that both Alice Wright and Frank Longbottom have expressed desires to pursue your dream job, and they are both more stellar students than you are. Also, unlike you, they are prefects."

"Relax," James ordered flippantly. "I'm a legacy. If I'm reasonably qualified, they'll accept me merely because Dad was an Auror."

Before Remus could comment that he hoped that his comrade wasn't to be punished by fate for his arrogance, the other went on, "Anyway, my epiphany didn't relate to my career choice per say. It pertained to the war against You-Know-Who."

"Is this your subtle way of announcing that you've decided to become a Death Eater?" prodded Sirius, a teasing glint in his black eyes when the addressed hesitated, searching for the right words to share his thoughts and emotions verbally.

"Now I understand why they used to tug out people's tongues in the Dark Ages," grumbled James, whacking his best mate lightly in the face by way of revenge. "At any rate, you are not one to talk, considering the fact that all of your family save Andromeda have been Sorted into the Death Eater boot camp that is Slytherin."

A glowering Sirius, who had opened his mouth to fire back, was forestalled when he elaborated more somberly, "What I was thinking of doing was just the converse, in fact: I was planning on joining the league that combats You-Know-Who and his cowardly followers."

"The whispers of the Order of the Phoenix," gasped Marlene.

"Precisely," James confirmed grimly, his lips compressed. "Only I suspect that they are more than whispers and that Dumbledore might even be the leader of this clandestine group since he is away from the school so often."

"So, you're just going to saunter up to Dumbledore and sign to be a member of his secret club?" demanded Sirius, his expression more thoughtful than was usual with him. "Do you reckon that he'll show you the handshake and everything then?"

"No." James shook his head in brusque negation. "I will mention my interest to McGonagall at my career advice session, and she can act as my intermediary."

"What?" stuttered Marlene. "You believe that she is in the Order of the Phoenix?"

"Yeah, I do," he affirmed soberly. "As much as I detest her for being a cantankerous and critical witch, I have to admit that she does not lack the requisite courage to defend herself and others from evil. Besides, she seems to be close to Dumbledore, so I can't envision that she isn't involved in his resistance movement."

"I see." Reflecting on the merits of this logic, Sirius frowned. A moment later, his face cleared like the summer sky after a rainshower has sailed away, and he pronounced with the grandiose air of a man who has just been appointed Minister of Magic, "Well, you won't be alone in doing so. When I have my career advice session, I'll volunteer my services to the Order, as well. After all, I'd hate for you to have all the entertainment, and when it's my turn to march up to glory, I wish to have one heck of a story."

"I'll sign up too," contributed Marlene. "It's my duty as a reasonably moral person, after all, to do anything I can to oppose the monster that is You-Know-Who."

"I'm joining also," Remus promised. He had to be a part of the Order of the Phoenix. It was his responsibility to do anything he could to thwart You-Know-Who for Uncle Brendan, for Aunt Mildred, for Chet, for the hundreds of beings who had been murdered in You-Know-Who's name and for all those whose lives had been torn asunder through the loss of a beloved one who was butchered in his name, and for Nicole Carys.

Especially for Nicole. Like any martyr, Nicole was far more renowned in death than she had been in life. Perhaps because she had been so beautiful, so youthful, and so very valiant when she demanded the right to battle You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters in Hogsmeade when they assailed that pastoral, arcadian village, or perhaps it was because her demise had a definite tragic element about it― she had lost her brother to the senseless violence of the Death Eaters and had perished preventing her grandmother from meeting a similar fate since she had vowed that she would never permit another one of her family members to be massacred in You-Know-Who's perverse quest for power. Whatever it was, she had become the icon that Gryffindors referenced when they referred to the havoc You-Know-Who was wrecking on Britain. In essence, she had become the emblem of what it meant to defy the Dark Wizards. Ironically, the fact that her rebellion had cost her her life did not dent the balloon of their enthusiasm; it fueled it instead.

After this, all the assembled teenagers riveted their eyes upon the last member of their congregation, the trembling-at-the-mere-hint-of-signing-up-for-a-resistance-organization Peter Pettigrew expectantly.

"W―w―what do you guys want?" he stammered, feigning ignorance rather than just being so through a natural infirmity for once.

"Merlin, Peter, it's a pity that when everybody else drank from the fountain of wisdom, you gargled," snarled James. "Isn't it as obvious that we're asking if you'll join the Order with the rest of us as it is that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west?"

"Oh, well, in that case, I don't know," mumbled the boy on whom every teenager's gaze was affixed, and whom appeared noxious as a result of being in the limelight.

"Come on." This time it was Sirius who voiced an impatient, derisive statement. "This isn't Advanced Transfiguration or Potions last time I checked. Thus, the answer can only be 'yes' or 'no' with no room for an 'I don't know.'"

"I―" Peter commented awkwardly as though there was gravel in his mouth obstructing his speech. Then, he choked over a few words that probably contained his first refusal to a scheme concocted by the ultimate chaos manufacturers on the globe, and exploded, "You lot do realize that beings who defy You-Know-Who are killed or tortured until they're pleading to be murdered because at that point, death will be a mercy since it will obliviate the pain!"

"Seeing as we haven't all been residing under a rock in the Sahara for the past decade, yeah, we recognized as much," Sirius informed him with his customary acerbity. "It's a good thing you're paid Knuts for your thoughts, because it allows me to get back change."

However, his best friend was more sober. "There are things on this planet that are worth dying for," he pronounced, his hazel eyes immobile. "Among them is preventing You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters from gaining control of this country and destroying it piece by gory piece."

"We might die," Peter squeaked, his franticness a stark contrast to James' implacability, sounding like a broken record.

"You really must have neglected to pay your brain bill this month," assessed Sirius, shaking his head in a parody of reproof. "Those of us who are particularly ingenious, however, have noticed that everything dies. It doesn't signify where you are, because when your name is hollered, you leave this world and maybe you travel onto a pleasant afterlife if you're lucky. At least we get to do something worthwhile before we go. You ought to be grateful for that, Peter. Not every generation is handed such an opportunity to define the history of humanity like we have been."

"Exactly," James confirmed, his manner brisk and businesslike. "Life without a cause to champion is useless. After all, it's better to be slaughtered on your feet than to shuffle through your entire meaningless existence on your knees. Standing up for yourself and others is everything. The brave may live a short life, bit the cowardly never live at all and suffer the agony of death, anyhow. In the end, nobody can cheat death, but you can deprive yourself of a good life."

"Life is not eternal, however much we may wish that it is," contributed the only female in their assembly. "Could you live with yourself when it was staining your conscience that hundreds of people were murdered and you did nothing to bring their killer to justice? Could you face yourself in the mirror when you were aware that loads of individuals had cried out in anguish and you turned a deaf ear to them? Could you ever respect yourself when it weighed on your mind and heart that you saw lots of beings discriminated against and you did nothing to defend them? A life wracked by guilt is a shabby one, if you ask me."

"Remus," moaned Peter, helplessly inarticulate against these contentions, "you've always been so smart and sensible. Surely, you can convince them that this is lunacy."

"But I don't think its madness," remarked Remus quietly after a few seconds' reflection. "There are more than just idealistic reasons to do so; there are practical motives for joining the Order."

"Really?" squealed the other.

"Yes. First the Death Eaters come for the Muggles and the Muggleborns. Then, they'll go after the half-bloods and blood traitors. After that, You-Know-Who and his minions will hunt down any purebloods they desire to." As he continued, Remus' tone became fervent, "If we don't protect the rights of others, then they'll be nobody there to stick up for us when ours are violated, and, trust me, they will be. Those who abuse others are addicted to doing so and won't cease until they are compelled to do so by an exterior force."

"But―but we're all purebloods," Peter muttered, his cheeks as pale as ghosts. "The Death Eaters aren't opposed to us."

"Are you deaf as well as dumb? Haven't you listened to anything I've said?" demanded Remus, an edge that wasn't typically present in his voice coloring it. "Don't you see that the hatred that dwells in the Death Eaters where their hearts should be requires constant stoking? You-Know-Who, whatever else he might be, is shrewd enough to furnish it through a steady supply of beings to detest. He was fortunate that many purebloods already loathed Muggleborns, so he could just exploit their bigotry. Once he has dealt with them, he will need a new target. Who can be positive that it won't be us?"

"Fine," capitulated Peter. "I'll join the Order, and I hope that I won't live to regret it."

"Excellent," James pronounced, clapping his hands in exaltation. "Then let's progress to the next order of business, shall we?"

"Let's not and claim we did, so we can discover if fibbers really have their noses elongate," mocked Sirius, who perceived any comment of his best mate's that he did not interrupt with some witticism or other as a tragic lost opportunity.

Before Remus could suggest that with all their frequent falsehoods, James and Sirius had already proven beyond all rational dispute that liars did not truly suffer the indignity of having their noses expand rapidly, James persisted, "Anyway, I think that we should all undertake a solemn oath to remain loyal to each other no matter what happens in our battle against You-Know-Who and the Death Eater scum who do his fighting for him. Even if they torture us with the Cruciatus Curse, we won't betray each other, and, if they attempt to manipulate us with the Imperius Curse, we'll find a way to shove it off. Do you all swear to it?"

"I promise," all the adolescents intoned the vow in unison, Peter's voice quavering like an earthquake. Himself, Remus felt tremulous as well…he had just bound himself to something that was almost as challenging to accomplish as strolling to Mars. Yet, certainly, he understood what he was ensnaring himself in after he had witnessed the steep prices that Uncle Brendan, his dad, and Nicole Carys had paid for disobeying the Death Eaters.

Still, he couldn't squelch the treacherous, pessimistic contingency in his obstinate brains that whispered that he and his peers comprehended what they were diving into when they volunteered to join the war against You-Know-Who as well as a blind man understood all the hues of the rainbow.

"This is our pact, then," James Potter concluded grimly, sealing the deal. Now none could recant, and abruptly Remus contemplated if the grave words were a death knell or a tomb door sliding into place upon them all forevermore.

Such a notion was folly, though, he chastised his over-active mind a nanosecond later. With an effort, he banished the idea. Once it was overcome, a weird sensation trickled through his veins and arteries. For a moment, he stood outside himself, it seemed. It was an occurrence that swept through him occasionally: without warning, he would feel detached, as if he floated above his classmates.

How young we all are, he noted, amused, someday I will ruminate upon all this and dream for such a simple pleasure as planning careers with my buddies in the sunny common room on a beautiful spring day.

A nasty fist clenching in his innards that he always uncovered coiled within him like a venomous snake before a momentous event enfolded that would forever alter his universe even if he didn't want it to but that he was hopeless to prevent from transpiring, occurred. Now it was cautioning him that such a time would happen to him not so far in the future. The war against You-Know-Who was quickening their lives, and forcing them all to grow up faster than normal.

However, that didn't signify. This was still their youth. It was their springtime, and even You-Know-Who couldn't rob them of that, and he would treasure every bright second of it until the scorching heat of the dog days arrived. In the future, there would be plenty of time to fret, so he would refuse to do so now.

Although You-Know-Who could not deprive Remus of his spring, it transpired that scores of others could, for, as he pursued every career pamphlet available to the overwhelmed fifth-year, he discovered that werewolves were not permitted to apply for any jobs, because apparently they were as welcome in most work stations as rattlesnakes were at balls. Even training security trolls was a future path from which he was barred.

This explained why Remus was to be found scowling as he rifled through the career brochures, searching for any job that he had brushed over that might accept him, under the shade of an ancient, towering, and proud oak that had probably stood in that same location a century ago, just as it would be rooted there long after the giggling gaggles of pupils strewn on the lawn gossiping or doing their homework on this Saturday afternoon had perished and been buried in wooden coffins, a week after the discussion in the common room.

Just when he was about to surrender to a hostile world and retreat to the library to study for his Potions and Charms O.W.L's, although now there was no real profit to be acquired from his hard work, when a beaming James loped across the grass toward him. In his wake, a large black-furred dog bounded, and Peter trailed along with a standard expression of nervous excitement etched upon his features.

"Trying to settle on a job, then?" inquired James as he plopped onto the soft ground and leaned back against the giant, timeless tree alongside his buddy. "Lovely day for it."

"Breaking the rules that govern our prestigious institution again?" Remus riposted while Peter seated himself on the grass across from his two companions.

"Huh?" James appeared taken aback by this comment.

"Dogs aren't permitted at Hogwarts," Remus educated his bemused comrade, waving his hand at the canine to illustrate this statement. "By this point, though, I suspect that you don't even notice when you violate a rule since you're accustomed to infringing upon them as often as your heart beats."

"Wow, I thought that Sirius and I put the hot sauce in Russell Fisher's toothpaste, not yours, but I guess I was mistaken as usual," chortled James. After a moment's chuckling, he regained the breath necessary to ask, "You don't think that anyone will note the dog, do you? After all, Janice Grant has a rat, and students are only permitted a toad, a cat, or an owl, yet she has never had anyone give her a hard time about it."

"Rats are a tad smaller than your dog is," grunted Remus while the canine he referenced, which had been aiming to persuade him to throw a stick across the grounds, decided to roll on its back, wagging its tail at him winningly.

"You're a mutt," he griped, but he could not prevent his right hand from snaking out and petting the dog's exposed belly.

"Don't call it a mongrel," admonished James, even though his lips were quirking with joviality. "Not only is it not very polite of you considering the canine has treated you with nothing but adoration, it is also inaccurate, seeing as the animal before you is bred from the finest pedigrees in all of England, or Europe, for that matter."

"Is that so?" Remus arched a dubious eyebrow at this assertion.

"It's so," repeated the other firmly, shoving himself to his feet as though he could not bear to waste any more of his allotted timeframe on this pretty planet sitting on the ground on a gorgeous spring day when he could be flying, running, or playing, instead. Life was all about action for him.

"Come on, Remus," he commanded as he rose. "I have something to show you."

"Is it the rest of the litter?" quipped the addressed dryly as he pushed himself upright in compliance with his friend's request.

"You'll see," the other adolescent responded enigmatically. With that, he led the dog, Peter, and Remus across the lawn that was packed with pupils relishing a sun-drenched Saturday and into the Forbidden Forest.

"We aren't supposed to enter here," protested Remus as they strode into the woods.

"Believe me, you don't want anyone to spot what I'm about to reveal to you," answered James with the same mysterious air that implied he was the keeper of an arcane secret. "The consequences would be enormous."

However much Remus questioned him for further details, he provided no more illumination as they progressed through the sun-dappled early forest into the later, thicker-canopied regions, which were cool and dark. Finally, they halted in the center of a bramble outlined thicket.

"What am I intended to see?" Remus cast a bewildered glance about him at the briars and trees. "Are we waiting for the centaurs to canter in and shoot us for trespassing?"

"They don't shoot children― Hagrid explained as much to me," James informed him.

"He also furnished you and Sirius with a batch of Cornish pixies in our third-year, so you'll pardon me if I don't set much in store by his judgment," snorted Remus, rolling his eyes at the other lad's argument.

"Shut up, and don't blink or you'll miss it," commanded James, whose patience had clearly been depleted. Before Remus could reply, he gestured at the canine as if ordering it to perform a stunt, and the next instant it was transforming right in front of Remus' disbelieving eyeballs.

While Remus gawked at the spectacle, the dag's forelegs shortened, its rear legs elongated, its fur disappeared and was replaced by clothing, and the snout softened into an aristocratic nose. Within a few seconds, Sirius Black was standing where the dog had been.

"Is he an Animagus?" breathed an astonished Remus when he had the spare oxygen to do so still staring at the place where the canine had been a handful of seconds ago and Srirus now was.

"Right in one. Select a prize from the bin," agreed James. "I can become one, too, only I transfigure into a stag, instead. Only Peter can't do it, but Sirius and I will figure out how to teach him before the next full moon, so that we can finally keep you company during your monthly ordeal."

"I― I don't know what to say. You― You'll never understand what this means to me, but just recognize that it is worth a fortune to me." With difficulty, Remus gulped down the lump the size of a respectable mountain in the Alps that had lodged itself in his throat for some bizarre reason, because he was not going to permit himself the luxury of crying now. After all, the fact that he possessed such steadfast friends was hardly a cause for despair, yet it wasn't himself he was feeling sorry for. No, his tears were for the planet since noble, devoted individuals like Remus' buddies were rarer than diamonds and infinitely more precious, because most people would perish without being introduced to a friendship as profound as his, and that was a tragedy.

"Don't go all sentimental on us," blustered a crimson cheeked Sirius. "We swore that we'd do it, and we fulfilled our pledge― that's all. There's nothing all that spectacular about that, as it just illustrates that we're not immoral wretches, not that we're saints. That is, it's more of a negative proof: it proves that we don't lack a moral compass the way using an apostrophe correctly demonstrates that you aren't a moron but by no means suggests that you are on par with Ptolemy."

"I see, so how did you achieve this, anyhow?" Remus asked, dropping the gratitude as his comrades obviously desired.

"Well, I was randomly studying my Transfiguration notes from third-year in an unprecedented display of interest in academic affairs, and I recognized that I was approaching the problem wrong. Once I had rectified my error, it was not immensely challenging, but let's not dwell on my genius. Instead, let's return to the school and steal some food from the kitchen so we can celebrate in our dormitory the fact that Remus Lupin will nevermore have to confront the full moon alone without his cadre of faithful friends."

"Yes, let's," murmured Remus, the notion of him nevermore having to be alone ringing inside his head as they strolled out of the darkness of the woods toward the light-filled grounds.


	19. Chapter 19

Author's Note: Sorry that this chapter is a wee bit short, at least by my standards. I was going to include it in the previous one, but then I decided against it because I thought that the end of the Animagi scene was a decent break-off point, and so I separated my ideas. Unfortunately, this idea seemed longer in my head than it actually was on paper (or my computer, to be more precise in such crucial affairs), so that, to make a short story long as usual, explains the brevity of this particular installment.

A Career for a Werewolf

A couple of days after Remus discovered to his shock that James and Sirius were capable of transforming themselves into animals whenever the whim struck them, he had to leave Arithmancy early to attend his career advice session with Professor McGonagall. Since he doubted that she would be able to conjure a job for him that accepted applications from werewolves, he would rather have stayed in the lesson to finish the challenging and mind-numbing classwork assigned by Professor Vector instead of being compelled to complete it without her assistance on his own time, which to him seemed like an unfair double punishment for a crime he had not committed.

All in all, he was in an extremely dour mood as he shuffled down the empty corridors and stairwells to the Head of Gryffindor's office, because he was musing gloomily on his imprudent decision not to take James up on his kind offer to switch appointment times yesterday. Somehow, James had been designated a career meeting during their break, which meant that he did not have to miss any instruction and was not saddled with the burden of completing make-up work.

When Remus had bemoaned this fact too often for his taste, James, probably wishing to pacify his constantly grumbling buddy, had proposed that they shift career advice meetings, since he did not mind missing Care of Magical Creatures. Although he had considered this offer, in the end, Remus had refused, mainly because he was positive that Professor McGonagall would frown on this display of initiative, and he did not enjoy aggravting one of the most irascible teachers in the entire school.

His melancholy contemplations had lasted him to Professor McGonagall's study. Sighing and steeling himself or what would doubtlessly be an unpleasant conversation, he knocked on the solid oak door of her office. For one ludicrous moment, in a demonstration of wit worthy of an inebriated troll, he cherished the faint hope that she had fouled up the parchementwork and mistakenly assigned him a session during a period where she was teaching, but when her voice sounded clearly through the door, bidding him to enter, yet another one of his fantasy bubbles was cruelly popped, much to his disillusionment.

After taking yet another deep breath to prepare himself for the worst, as if he were about to set out on an expedition in the Antarctic without a jacket, Remus tentatively slid open the door and stepped inside her office, feeling as if he had just strode into a dragon's den with no weapons to defend himself.

"Ah, Mr. Lupin. I've been expecting you," she greeted him crisply. Gesturing at a hard, uncompromising, and straight-backed chair across the desk from her, she added, "Be seated, please."

Even though it did not appear particularly comfortable or inviting, he determined that it would be impolite to decline, and so he settled himself in the indicated seat. Still, he could not prevent himself from pondering why the Transfiguration instructor would not go to the bother of transforming the chair into something a little easier on the rump, or why, at the very least, she had not performed such a spell on her own seat. After all, they weren't in Sparta.

"Well," she began as soon as his behind had landed in the seat, "I trust you know why you are here."

Yes, of course he comprehended why he was here. Like everyone else who was even semi-literate and had the intelligence quotient of lint, he could read the blasted sign that had been posted on the bulletin board in the common room announcing in bolded, gigantic font that all the fifth-years would have a career advice session with their Head of House and providing the dates and times of individual appointments.

"Yes, Professor, I'm here to receive career advice," he replied as courteously as he could with his blood pressure as elevated as it was.

"Correct," she affirmed, shoving several pamphlets into a drawer so that she could have more elbow room. "Now, since you seem to have a vague idea of why you are present, let's get down to business, shall we?" Before he could answer this suggestion, she plowed on briskly, "What career are you planning on pursuing once you graduate?"

"I'm thinking that I should get a job as a Muggle accountant or something," confessed Remus bluntly, voicing the notion that had come to dominate more and more segments of his brain as the year wore on. Given that nobody in the Wizarding world was willing to employ a werewolf, he judged that the only chance he had at a respectable lifestyle was to join the Muggles. Now, he only wished that he had had this epiphany sooner― before he had gone to Hogwarts, met James, Sirius, and Peter, and glimpsed the existence he might have led if it hadn't been for Fenrir Grayback. Of course, he had not shared his scheme with his friends. They all envisioned that he was studying so much for his O.W.L's because he wanted to have a well-paying career, not because he just longed to prove beyond all possible dispute that not all werewolves were bloodthirsty savages who had empty skulls where everyone else possessed brains. "If I pretend to be a Muggle, then at least the fact that I'm a werewolf won't get in my way. Muggles don't believe in werewolves, just as they don't believe in witchcraft, so they can't discriminate against me on those grounds."

Actually, he was gambling that what Sirius had described learning about non-magical culture in Muggle Studies was accurate. Recalling suddenly how Sirius had detailed his parents' wrath when they discovered that their older son had become the first Black in generations to enroll in the course, he had to stifle the urge to smirk, remarking inwardly that the Black family as a whole was comprised of people who were not inclined to permit education to interfere with their ignorance or to go to the intense trouble of uncovering any information about the race of beings they despised. After all, if they learned about Muggles, they might discover that they weren't so different or primitive, and then their tidy, complacent worldview would be detonated, and they would fall into a crisis. Knowledge was an agonizing piece of luggage to tote around with you.

His inner diatribe was quelled when Professor McGonagall declared, "While I do see that your career choices are limited, Mr. Lupin―"

"Limited?" the addressed repeated bitterly. "With all due respect, Professor, they're non-existent, meaning that, even with an electron microscope, they can't be spotted. I can't even train security trolls. I get some of the highest marks in the whole year, and I am not smart enough to train a species who are so dumb that the closest they'll come to a brainstorm is a slight drizzle how to grunt dangerously while they flourish their clubs."

"I am aware of that, thank you, seeing as I can read the pamphlets myself, and I can notice the asterisk stating that werewolves, centaurs, goblins, and half-giants need not apply for jobs in the Ministry, at Saint Mungo's, or just about anywhere else," asserted Professor McGonagall tersely. "However, there are other options."

"There are?" Remus frowned as he repeated this contention, since he had never imagined that there were any more selections available to him.

"Of course," she remarked at her most matter-of-fact, as though she was describing how to transfigure a match into a needle to a classroom loaded with first-year pupils. "There are private employers who might be willing to accept you, you know."

"Really?" he demanded, his blood racing through his veins in excitement at this revelation. Maybe he would not have to leave the Wizarding world to find a job, after all. Perhaps the life he had longed to hold was not out of his reach as he had feared that it was. Yet, he scolded himself, he ought not raise his hopes again. Nothing was worse than disappointment, and it was better to expect nothing wonderful to occur, so that when a magnificent event did unfold, one could be pleasantly surprised. Still, although he chided himself for his folly, he could not quite suppress the exhilaration at the notion of a career among his fellow witches and wizards sparked in him.

"Yes, Lupin, I don't make a habit of lying to my charges," she educated him wryly. "Now, a few months ago an old friend of Dumbledore's, Hiram Anwar spoke to him a few months ago about how his younger partner would be leaving his antique shop soon to go do some excavating of ancient Mayan ruins in Mexico, and, therefore, how he needed a new partner to replace him. Dumbledore mentioned how you were a responsible, hardworking, and intelligent student who might be interested in the job."

"Did Professor Dumbledore mention, as James would call it, my furry little problem?" a skeptical Remus wanted to know.

"He did, indeed," confirmed Professor McGonagall. "However, he said that did not matter much to him as long as you were qualified and remembered to stay home from work on the full moon."

"Oh." Remus was quiet for a moment, absorbing this data. Of course, he surmised that he really ought not to have been so taken aback by it. After all, Dumbledore did not associate with bigots, who were the only type of beings he detested. Once he had recovered himself, he muttered, "Well, would you please have Dumbledore tell him that I am interested?"

"I will," Professor McGonagall obliged. Withdrawing a pile of homework she had to grade from a drawer, she announced, "If you have no more questions, I think that concludes this meeting."

"I do, actually, Professor," he stated. Swallowing down the frog that had randomly materialized in his throat without his permission, he persisted, "I'm interested in joining the league that fights You-Know-Who after I graduate, as well."

"Not you, too." Professor McGonagall sighed, and shook her head, wearing an expression that he couldn't fathom. "Not you, Potter, Black, Miss Hayes, and Miss Evans. Will I have any of my Gryffindors live to celebrate their thirtieth birthdays? Did any of you learn anything from what happened to Miss Carys? Didn't any of you realize that You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters have no problem killing people who aren't even twenty?"

Ignoring her last two questions, because now was not a moment where he wanted to mull over Nicole's death or to reflect on how young he and his comrades might be when they perished if they set out from school with the objective of vexing You-Know-Who by joining the Order of the Phoenix, which was sworn to resist him, Remus told her, "Peter Pettigrew's joining, as well, Professor."

"Of course he is." Her lips pursed in disapproval. "The four of you are inseparable, so, naturally, you would never dream of doing anything apart. Honestly, I suspect that if one of you were to leap off a suspension bridge, the other three would promptly follow without a second thought. I suppose that it also never entered any of your minds that Professor Dumbledore might not want a batch of green witches and wizards as his army?"

"He might not want us, but he's got to accept us, Professor," countered Remus, feeling uncharacteristically resolute for some reason he couldn't even justify to himself.

"Are you implying that a bunch of teenagers are going to persuade one of the most powerful magicians in the world to do something against his will, Lupin?" Professor McGonagall looked as dubious as if he had just insisted that one and one made a dozen.

"No, Professor." Remus shook his head in negation. "Rather, I'm suggesting that circumstances will force Professor Dumbledore into doing that. As far as I can see by the way the fight against You-Know-Who is going, he hasn't got enough people under his command, so he'll accept any recruits he can out of necessity."

"Young adults don't make good soldiers," she snapped. "You might very well find that you and your companions are more of a hindrance than a help on the battlefield."

"I don't think so," Remus answered, quiet but cynical. "If people our age didn't make splendid soldiers, You-Know-Who wouldn't use so many of us, but the fact of the matter is that we make great warriors, Professor. After all, our brains aren't fully developed yet, and, so we don't think things through as carefully as others might, and that makes us very impulsive and very brave followers. That means that you just have to put a wand in our hands, point at the enemy, and tell us to attack. We'll do it, because we imagine that it's a brilliant sport. That's why we're the best soldiers in the whole world. You could manipulate us, and we wouldn't even recognize it until it was too late, and we were dead and buried."

"Exactly." The hostility vanished from her tone as she established as much. "You see it yourself, Mr. Lupin. You understand why you must not join the Order, at least not until you're older and have lived more, like I have. Then, your deaths won't be as horrible because at least you would have led a more full life. There is a whole lot more to existence than warfare, and you should see it before you rush into the battlefield."

"Maybe I would if there was time, but there isn't," Remus maintained, his chin stuck out. "Anyway, nobody else is volunteering because they don't make as good recruits and soldiers as us, and so it's got to be us. It's our duty. It's ugly, but there it is."

"Very well, then," Professor McGonagall responded shortly. "I will inform Professor Dumbledore of your interest, and he will contact you when you graduate if you still want to be a part of the Order. However, if you change your mind at any time, which I hope that you will, stop by my office and tell me."

"Right. Thank you, Professor." With that, Remus rose and headed toward the exit. When he arrived at the threshold, he pivoted and amended, "By the way, I won't ever change my mind. None of us will. We made a solemn promise that we won't, you see."

Before she could reply to this, he shut the door and hurried back to his Arithmancy lesson, praying to reach there in time to get some of his classwork done before the bell tolled, dismissing them all for lunch.


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer: While I would be flattered beyond belief if you believed that I was J.K. Rowling owing to the caliber of my writing, I would still have to advise you to visit a psychologist immediately for assistance with your delusions.

Author's Note: Firstly, I would like to acknowledge that there is a discrepancy on when Snape had his skin saved by James. That is, in the seventh book, JKR describes a conversation between Snape and Lily occurring in their third-year about that incident. Yet, the Marauders, logically, would have to have been Animagi by that time, but that contradicts what she said in book three about the Marauders being able to transform into animals at the end of their fifth year. Thus, I decided that I would go with the timeline proposed in book three, since it seems more feasible that fifteen-year-old rather than thirteen-year-old wizards can perform the complex transfiguration necessary to become an Animagi. I also think that this still allows Lily to hear about Jame rescuing Snape, even if they are no longer friends after the Mudblood affair, and she can still have her opinion of James Potter improved upon by it. (Not that it takes much to do so.)

Secondly, I have to confess that this chapter was a challenging one for me to write as action sequences aren't my forte. (Don't worry. You can get off the floor now. The surprises should end soon, I swear.)

Reviews: Are always appreciated because they are my only wage, so please donate to my charity organization by hitting the submit review button on the bottom of your browser. All donations are tax deductible if you file the appropriate paperwork afterwards.

Death of Innocence

"Do you know what tonight is?" Severus Snape inquired with a leer on his sallow, narrow face that was rendered even more unattractive by the menacing expression hewn into his every taut feature. It was in their final lesson, double N.E.W.T Potions, and Professor Slughorn had split them into three groups of five to concoct a batch of Amortentia, arguably the most potent love potion devised by humanity in its hundreds of thousands of years on the planet, or sixth thousand years on Earth if one preferred to ignore all aspects of rational scientific discovery. On a whole, this would not have been so horrible if Slughorn, for reasons best comprehended by his jovial self, had not elected to pair Remus, Sirius, and James with Snape and Mulciber with the jocund air of Santa Claus furnishing an impoverished an impoverished youth with an expensive and dazzling toy. Suffice it to say, even the dulcet aromas emitted from their cauldron could not mask the enmity between them that fogged the area like skunk musk.

"It's Wednesday evening," growled Sirius, whose teeth were grinding together as he dumped some essence of myrtle and camellia into the liquid they were creating as a team. "Maybe someday you'd like to invest in memorizing the days of the week like the rest of us. Here, I'll even help you, Snivellus, because I'm feeling really charitable today. Repeat after me…"

"Keep talking, Black," snarled Snape, drowning out Sirius' chant of the days of the week, which he was adding obscene lyrics to that probably would have made an inebriated sailor blush. While he taunted his peers, Snape stirred the mixture in the cauldron according to his own peculiar notion of how to do so that contradicted Jiggers' directions. "Maybe one day you'll say something worth listening to, although I won't hold my breath waiting for it. Anyway, I was just going to point out that tonight is only one evening away from the full moon."

"And we should give a rat's dropping why exactly?" Sirius snorted.

"You should care because your buddy Lupin here is probably going to be missing in action again." His sneer becoming still more pronounced, Snape riveted his cold, ebony eyes on Remus as he demanded, "Why are you always absent on the night of the full moon, Luppy? Are you really a girl who is such a baby about the pain of your monthly courses that you have to take off whenever they come around?"

Flushing to the roots of his brown hair, Remus stared down at the oaken table they were all clustered to work at, scrutinizing the dizzying whorls of the wood in the vain hope that they would swallow him into their mighty vortexes, saving him from his present humiliation. If Marlene were here, she would bark at Snape that, as a male, he could not imagine the ache of monthly courses or the agony of pregnancy, and, yet, in a typical demonstration of ignorant masculine ego, would insist on hinting that females were the weaker sex, although men did not have any painful biological curses. If she was feeling more tolerant of the male gender, she might just have asked keenly how he could possibly know what in the world he was talking about when he referenced the agony of monthly courses unless he was a female, as well, and an astonishingly unsightly one at that. However, Remus was not her, so he kept his jaw clamped shut on retorts he could not bring himself to voice, wishing that his cheeks wouldn't flame like beacons of his embarrassment. Ironically, though, this desire only contributed fuel to the fire in his face.

Seeing Remus' distress, Sirius opened his mouth to snap back, but Snape cut across him, still addressing Remus, "Or maybe it's the cycles of the moon rather than your body that make you ill?"

"If you don't shut up, then you'll be sick in a moment," threatened James, his hand slipping into the folds of his cloak to finger his wand. Remus did not doubt that his friend would employ his wand. After all, the only reason that this scene had not disintegrated into a duel already was because they were in class. However, he had the inkling that James was not going to be intimidated by that fact if the insults persisted in flying out of Snape's mouth like germs.

Oh, well, if a fight ensued, at least it was under Slughorn's watch, and everyone with two brain cells to rub together recognized that the rotund, amiable old man could no more discipline his favorites than thunder could fail to follow lightning in a monsoon.

"Relax, Crackpot," hissed Snape, all derision. "I'm just curious, that's all."

"Yeah, well, curiosity is a crime that is punishable with a death sentence." James' hazel eyes crackled with the intensity of his loathing of the other adolescent, who had been his foe ever since they had arrived at Hogwarts six years ago. "As such, if you like your long nose attached so you can continue using it to open the precious little post you receive from the handful of people who can stand you, you'll keep it out of our business, Snivelly. Have you got it, or do I need to repeat myself in Troll so you'll understand?"

As he finished with this jibe, a hearty guffaw sounded from the table to the left of them. Pivoting in alarm, Remus realized that the confrontation between Snape and James had enticed the interest of the five teenagers at the next table over, who had formed a silent audience before but now could no longer contain their amusement.

Apparently, Conan Dooley was the chortler, although Sean McKinnion, who had disliked James ever since he had stolen Marlene from him a year ago, was grinning from ear to ear, and Debra Prescott was giggling. It seemed that James' comment was witty enough to warrant the coveted Ravenclaw seal of approval for a decent jest. Yet, that by no means indicated that it was only appealing to them, for the Hufflepuff Kyra Lawton was laughing, as well, and Lily Evans looked as though she was struggling to stifle a giggle. Before last year, she could have been depended upon to defend Snape, but she no longer championed him after he called her a Mudblood on the grounds after their Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L.

Perhaps their amusement alerted Slughorn to the strife unfolding between Snape and James, because he squeezed his way through the tables and chairs to approach the table where Remus and the others were standing, their simmering potion long forgotten in the drama.

"Now, now, lads, let's have no more bickering," he admonished, as he waddled up to James and Snape, who were glaring daggers at each other as if they each hoped that the hatred in their eyes would murder the other. "If you two refuse to get along, I will feed you both Amortentia, and then you'll interact with each other with nothing but love."

"I doubt it, sir," scoffed James, appearing as though only the faintest sliver of human decency was preventing him from flourishing his wand at Snape and attempting to rip him limb from gory limb. "After all, even the most powerful love potion in the world could not make me fall in love with that ghastly beast."

"Are you looking in a mirror?" Snape's lip curled contemptuously.

"Really, boys, enough is enough. Hearing such squabbles is trying on an old gentleman," reproved Slughorn, waggling his finger. "Now, Severus, switch with our charming Miss Evans, so that no group misses their resident Potions expert…"

Wearing an expression that suggested he would rather have stayed and disemboweled James, Snape crossed over to join the team Lily had been in, while Lily, looking unenthused by the prospect of working with Potter, the arrogant boy who insisted on flirting with her even though she had declared too many times for even the most talented mathematicians to count that she had no interest in him whatsoever, except as a Muggle punching bag, strode over to them to replace Snape. However, by the time the two adolescents had swapped places, the bell rang, dismissing them all, and Remus hurried off to supper in the company of Sirius and James.

"Lord, I could just kill that Snivellus Snape," scowled James as the three of them exited the dungeons and made their way up to the Great Hall for dinner, following the path of the poignant smells of freshly cooked food to the dining room. "He had no right to say what he did to you, and it's none of his blasted business where you go every month, Moony. You can miss as much school that you want, and it would still be none of his affair!"

"Don't blow a major blood vessel, Prongs," advised Sirius with a ghost of a snicker etched into his cheeks. "We'll have our revenge upon him yet. Never you fret."

"Are we going to levitate him in the corridors again so everyone can see the gray underwear that he never washes again?" James asked, perking up slightly like a forlorn dog that had suddenly detected the scent of a rabbit that it could stalk.

"Nah, that's so cliché." Sirius shot his best friend a withering glance. "Honestly, I can't believe that I once thought you were a troublemaking prodigy like me when it is obvious that you are nothing better than a pretend wannabe."

"And I can't believe that I imagined that I would ever want to be buddies with someone more offensive than dead bodies like you are," riposted James as the three of them entered the Great Hall and directed their steps toward the Gryffindor table, which was already packed with pupils joking around with their friends after a lengthy day with their noses buried in books. "So, get to the point, Padfoot. What are you plotting? Inquiring minds want to know."

"Just a punishment that will fit the crime, is all," Sirius responded enigmatically while they all settled themselves in seats midway down the table, leaving room for Peter when he arrived there after his free period and loaded their golden platters with mounds of sprouts and chicken pie.

"And that would be what exactly?" James pressed through a mouthful of sprouts.

"It would be a surprise for you," was all Sirius would say on the subject.

That night, after they completed their supper and returned to the common room, Sirius sat by himself on a sofa, scribbling on a piece of parchment. Then, when he was done writing, he rushed off to the Owlery. When he joined James, Peter, and Remus for a game of Exploding Snap by the fire, he refused to provide any data about he had written his epistle, too, although he did appear very smug with himself about something, and Remus had the nasty suspicion that Severus Snape might be the recipient of a rash-inducing powder in the morning or something dreadful like that.

However, the next day, during lessons, Snape's face was marred with neither pockmarks nor abrasions of any sort. In fact, he was walking about the castle with a superior, self-satisfied manner that only increased the gloating expression on Sirius' features.

Unfortunately, owing to the demanding nature of his courses, Remus was unable to devote much time to solving this riddle, and, the next evening, as he did every full moon, he went down to the hospital wing. From there, he was escorted by Madam Promfery through the eerily quiet school, across the shadowed lawns lit fitfully by the dim illumination afforded by the full moon, and tapped the branch that would permit him to crawl underneath the Whomping Willow.

Now, since he knew that his three best mates would be creeping out of the common room stealthily, down the empty corridors, and out onto the grounds under the cover of James' trusty Invisibility Cloak Remus could wait in the spare cabin that Dumbledore had purchased for his employment every month during his transformation without feeling the overwhelming anguish of the jabbing pangs of lonesomeness and alienation from society. Now that he knew that his pals would be turning into animals and spending the night with him here so that they were a group as always, he could relax.

Sure enough, he had been in the shack for perhaps twenty minutes when a scuffling noise reached his ears. A few seconds later, a rat, Peter, scuttled into the chamber, trailed by a majestic stag and an exuberant black dog. All of them settled down around Remus, ignoring the growing hair all over his body, the teeth that sharpened into fangs, and the claws that replaced his fingers on hands that had been transfigured into paws, as the night darkened and midnight drew nigh.

Finally, shortly before twelve o'clock, there was a rustle from above. Sirius' tail wagged, he barked, and then transformed into a human again. As he adopted the shape of a teenaged boy whose flesh was looking very appetizing to Remus who was battling the compulsion to leap upon Sirius and devour him, thereby sating his thirst for the miracle drink of blood, Sirius smirked, "Here comes nosy old Snivellus. Right on time. Splendid."

At his statement, James' antlers whipped about wrathfully, almost spearing a squeaking, cringing Peter by accident. Realizing that he had almost stabbed his antlers through the innards of one of his buddies, James transfigured into his normal form as well, which caused Remus' mouth to salivate. Now, he could have a fancy dinner and dessert to boot. Wonderful…but people weren't supposed to consume their friends, even if they had an unquenchable hunger for blood every month. Unquenchable desires had to be regulated.

"You told Snape to come here?" James' mouth was agape with incredulity, something that Remus couldn't understand. Snape was coming. That was brilliant. Bloody brilliant, he should say. More blood and flesh for him to gorge on. Nothing could be more delicious than that.

"That's correct." Looking pleased with himself, Sirius bobbed his head in affirmation, which made him appear even more delectable to the werewolf among them.

"You son of a bitch," rasped James. Then, with a last revolted glare at Sirius, he bolted down the tunnel to the entranceway under the Whomping Willow. His dash aroused the predatory instincts in the monster dominating Remus, and, without a second thought or even a first one, he bounded after the adolescent, kicking up dirt as he sped along.

As he approached the opening of the labyrinth, he heard the dopplering sounds of a skirmish in his unnaturally sharp ears. James was attempting to push a protesting Snape out of the tunnel. Fists were flailing as the two combatants punched each other, and Remus jumped on them, fighting to acquire a grip on them, so that he could much on their tender skin, feel it crunch and submit to his all-powerful jaws, and taste their life's blood flowing into him as the desire to exist ebbed inside them…

Then, somehow, in the haze of it all, James had mustered the strength required to flick his wand and shout an incantation. Remus' world receded into oblivion as rapidly as it would have if he had been whacked upside the head with a sledge hammer.

Sometime later―-he wasn't certain how long exactly because he was suspended in a peculiar alternate universe where time was of no significance― pinpricks of light, like stars in the wintry sky, blossomed in the jet black atmosphere that had filled Remus' mind since he had been knocked out. With the return of luminescence came the abrupt, harrowing memory of his heinous actions coupled with the reawakening of the overpowering ache in his skull.

After opening his eyes with considerably more difficulty than usual, Remus glanced about him and recognized that he was stretched out on a cot in the hospital ward. When he checked to his right, he saw James, coated in crimson scratches that were scrubbed over with a white ointment that was probably a salve of some type, lying on the bed beside him. However, when he examined the wing for a trace of Snape, he detected none, which meant…No, he wasn't going to contemplate what might have befallen Snape and what atrocity he might have unintentionally committed while his brain was absent without leave.

"I'm sorry, Prongs, truly I am," stammered Remus, feeling like a drunkard who had only just recovered from his hangover enough to recall all the disgusting remarks he had voiced the previous evening in the village pub. "I didn't mean to…I didn't know what I was going."

"God above, don't bother apologizing for something you couldn't help," answered the other boy tersely, and Remus stared guiltily down at his now normal palms, whishing fervently that he had mastered the art of controlling the barbarism that invaded him ever month at the full moon. "I'm sorry about knocking you out, by the way, Moony, but I had to do it. Otherwise, you might have killed Snape or me."

"Snape is okay, then?" inquired Remus hopefully.

"You bet," James confirmed. "He didn't even get covered with scratches, like me."

"Yours are just scratches?" Remus pressed, his forehead furrowed in anxiety. "You've got no bites?"

"Nope," the other informed him.

Perhaps hoping to inject a note of levity into the proceedings, Sirius quipped from the chair next to James' cot, "It would have been such a tragedy if Snape died, though."

"I thought I told you to stuff a sock in it?" growled James, whose ire was raised more than Remus had ever witnessed it. "Or if you have to yatter on, why don't you apologize to Moony here?"

"What to I have to beg pardon for, huh?' Sirius launched back. "What I did, I did for him. I did everything for his sake― to get revenge on Snape in his name."

"Please don't lie, damn it!" exploded James. "Everything you claimed you did for Moony, you did for yourself. You just saw it as an opportunity to injure Snape. You didn't think that he might not want a death or another werewolf creation staining his conscience, and it certainly never entered your mind that if Snape survived, he could have told the whole school about Moony's furry little problem. Then, how long would it be before the letters piled on Dumbledore's desk from concerned mummies and daddies demanding that he leave before he killed their precious children. It never occurred to you that if it got out that if it leaked out that Moony is a werewolf through Snape, he'd never graduate, and then how would he get a job, huh? We're just lucky that Dumbledore got Snape to keep his mouth shut, which is more than I can say about you!"

"Whereas you'd better hope that everybody in the castle ha suddenly gone deaf, because otherwise they'll all hear you screaming what Moony is," countered Sirius heatedly, his cheeks blazing scarlet like the setting sun.

"Just shut up and listen for a moment for once, will you?" James snapped, his hands balling in his temper. "You only gave a damn about yourself, not Remus, and then you hid your selfishness with a veneer of nobility, which is even worse. That's why I'm so cross at you. Like everyone else in your hideous family, you're nothing but a coldhearted bastard, and I was an imbecile not to spot it earlier. Just as all the pureblood maniacs assert, bad blood will out. I just can't wait until they receive the memo that informs them that it's their own bloodlines that are putrid, can you?"

For a minute, it seemed as though a seething Sirius would smack James in the stomach, but, then, an odd, vulnerable look flashed over his face. His defiance abandoned him and he sagged like a balloon once all the helium had blown out of it.

"I'm sorry," he admitted awkwardly, revealing how unaccustomed he was to offering apologies an uncomfortable pause in which Remus could hear every beat of his pounding heart. "Maybe you're right that I'm as ruthless as the rest of my family, but I― I was brought up that way. From the time I was knee high to a grasshopper, I was taught to hate and to be hard. Is it really so astounding that I would want my greatest school adversary permanently from the picture."

"Through death?" whispered an ashen James.

"Yes, through death, if necessary!" Sirius' anger sparked again. "Oh, don't act so appalled, James. You know that you're going to be going out and killing Death Eaters like him in a year."

"But death is forever," mumbled James. It was then that Remus watched the epiphany appear on everyone's faces. Suddenly, it occurred to them all that fighting the Death Eaters wouldn't just mean dying for a cause or losing pals to it. No, it entailed killing for it. Were they prepared for that? Could they afford not to be? At least they had Sirius, though. By his own confession, Sirius had been bred for cruelty. He could exterminate his foes without hesitation. Maybe that was what permitted one to endure on this Earth. That, tenacity, and pure blind fortune.

"Yep," agreed Sirius. "That's kind of the point of doing away with your opponent, you know."

"What a wonderful world." Shaking his head distastefully, James crumbled into his mountain of pillows, as if it were the only refuge for him on the entire globe. "Either you play dirty or you get murdered by those who do. That's no choice at all."

"Perhaps it's not the world that's awful, but rather what people have done to it," observed Remus judiciously, sick at heart and convinced that he would vomit any second now.

Silence descended upon the congregation for a moment, and then Sirius, biting on his lower lip, asked, "Do you guys forgive me, then? You lot are the only family I've really got, after all, and I'd hate to lose you, as pathetic as that sounds."

"Of course we forgive you," James reassured him on a tiny grin. "Brothers always forgive each other no matter what. That's the purpose of family. They have to take you back when nobody else will even if you are the biggest idiot the planet has ever encountered."

"Maybe that's what makes Blacks so ruthless," mused Sirius, fiddling with his best buddy's blanket. "Instead of forgiving each other, we let the loathing build up inside of us like a corrosive. After awhile, the hatred is all we have remaining, so we cling to it even when we realize that it is eating us from within. People who are consuming themselves think nothing of destroying others."

"You aren't like that," James educated him sharply. "I shouldn't have said that you were. That wasn't fair. You've chosen to be different, and you may be a screw-up, but you're sill the best friend I could ever hope to find."

"And you're the only brother that I've really got, because Regulus never really counted." As he established as much, Sirius extended a hand and clasped James', and, as swiftly as that the breach that had developed between the two boys was closed again.

"So, how did you trick Snape into coming after me, anyway?" Remus wanted to know after a brief pause while the rifts between them all healed over.

"Oh, well, I just wrote a note from Sean, pretending to be mad at James because of the breakup with Marlene, saying that I had overheard him talking about Remus in Potions, and I knew from my former girlfriend that if he trailed Remus out into the grounds and tapped a certain branch on the Whomping Willow, he would have a shocking revelation as a greeting," explained Sirius, blushing.

"Marlene would never betray me, and Sean would never betray her. Last time, the treachery was all on her side, as painful as it is for me to admit it," pointed out Remus.

"Yeah, but Snape's a Slytherin, and since they are all a bunch of traitors, they expect others to behave as disloyally as they do." Sirius rolled his eyes in exasperation with his comrade's thickheadedness.

"I see now," allowed Remus.

"Will the marvels never cease?" teased Sirius, shoving himself out of his seat. "Well, I'll go down to the kitchens and steal some treats for you two. Then, I have to go help Peter on his Charms homework before he suffers a major nervous breakdown."


	21. Chapter 21

Crimes and Punishments

In the common room, the mood was festive on the afternoon of May 8th of Remus' seventh year at Hogwarts. Music was blaring from the radio, and everyone was singing along, dancing to the beat, or shouting at the people next to them in an effort to be heard over the cacophony issuing from the wireless placed on the table in the center of the chamber.

While they partied, everybody munched on the snacks that Sirius and James had managed to procure from the house elves in the kitchens, devouring the pastries as if it was the last opportunity to consume dessert that they would ever have. Some Gryffindors were attempting stunts that they would not normally have, analyzing private matters vociferously, and making advances on the opposite gender that they would not typically have done, buoyed on the beer that James and Sirius had crawled down their clandestine passages to Hogsmeade and back to purchase.

The reason for their rejoicing was simple: the Gryffindor Quidditch team, under the leadership of its captain, James Potter, had emerged the victor from its struggle for the Quidditch Cup with Ravenclaw that morning. As the celebration wore on, Remus wasn't surprised when James disappeared again, since he was always flitting about at parties like this. However, Marlene, who was beside him, and who had been sipping her fourth tankard of beer when James, who had been guzzling down the alcohol as well, excused himself from their company and lumbered over to the exit, banging into a rather large number of individuals, most of whom were too intoxicated to notice and blazing a trail too curvy for any sober being to create.

"Where's he going?" demanded Marlene, eyeing her boyfriend, whom she was on rocky terms with lately, with a bleary suspicion as he departed.

"I don't know," Remus, who alone of his companions hadn't taken so much as a gulp of beer, replied slowly, aware that in her inebriated condition tracking normal conversational speed would be impossible and would result in a headache the size of China. "You could have asked him if you wanted to find out. It didn't seem important to me."

"Didn't realize he was leaving," she slurred.

"He told us he was, albeit a wee incoherently," he pointed out.

"Didn't hear him," she insisted.

"Well, you can follow him, if you want," he suggested, deciding that it was imprudent to engage in a dispute with someone who was drunk. Intoxicated beings had issues linking together thoughts and sentences, but they were utterly convinced that they were correct on every subject and brooked no argument. Therefore, it was best to appease them. "He can't have gone far, weaving as he is. He probably hasn't even gone down the corridor yet."

"Yeah." Marlene perked up at this proposal. "I reckon I will." Here, she paused long enough to snatch his hand in her own. "You'll come with me."

To Remus' shock, even as wasted as she was, she still found in her the reserves of energy and strength necessary to maintain an ironclad grip on his hand and drag him to the door. "Hey, would you mind easing the bone-crushing grip a tiny bit, huh?" he gasped as he was yanked out of the portrait hole of the plump lady in her flowing rosy gown.

"This isn't my bone-crushing grip," she educated him, emitting the hysterical giggle of the drunk. "This is my don't leave me or do anything stupid like that grip. You oughta know that by now, Remus."

"I promise not to abandon you if you release my arm," he remarked, moaning when she tugged him down the hallway. As she gave a particularly harsh yank on his limb that nearly dislocated his poor, abused shoulder, he added, "Please don't tear it off, Marlene. After all, I might need it again someday."

Once again, she lapsed into the raucous barks of amusement that classified the intoxicated, but she did not relinquish her hold upon him. Remus was about to pursue his petition further when they rounded the corner, and the sight that greeted them expelled all the oxygen from his lungs in a gust that probably resulted in a hurricane somewhere in the tropics. Unless his eyes were deceiving him, which he highly doubted since he was one of the handful of Gryffindors who was still positive about which way was up and which down, James was kissing and groping Lily Evans passionately, and she―possibly drunk enough not to recognize who was romancing her, although Remus had always perceived her as a responsible adolescent who didn't destroy her liver with copious amounts of alcohol― was not resisting his advances. Rather, she seemed to be encouraging them.

His mouth, rendered abruptly as dry as the Sahara in the summer, was agape. Yes, he was delighted that after all these years of fruitlessly chasing after her like a beaten puppy beseeching its owner for any type of attention, James had finally acquired Lily. Yet, his first loyalty was to his first best buddy, Marlene. His primary commitment would always be to her, because she had been the one to initially instruct him in the mystery of joy, of the crazy elation that was the byproduct of taking the greatest risks imaginable, and of the impact a modicum of courage and self-esteem could have. He could not betray her, not after she had accepted his being a werewolf and aided him in achieving his dream of attending Hogwarts. After all, he never would have even met James, Sirius, or Peter if it hadn't been for her persuading him to fight for his right to go to school with all the other young witches and wizards in Great Britain.

All that meant that he was furious that James would cheat on her. Honestly, the least James could have done was broken up with Marlene before he started swapping saliva with Lily, so that she could be spared the agony and indignity of stumbling across a scene like this. Not for the first time, Remus longed for the guts to scold James as he deserved for his behavior toward Marlene, but, he consoled himself for his lack of nerve, his cowardice was inconsequential since she was the sort of female who despised chivalry, being enamored of the notion that she could survive on her own without condescending men fumbling around trying to aid her.

"What's going on here?" The frigid quality in Marlene's tone that could have rivaled a Death Eater's for sheer iciness implied that she already had a clear picture of what had been transpiring between the two teenagers before she and Remus had intruded upon the erotic proceedings.

"Nothing, Marlene, baby," James strove to reassure her, blinking as he glanced in her direction, no doubt laboring to solidify three or four differing visual planes into one blurred matrix of reality.

"Oh, don't give me that rubbish," she snarled, "because I'm not drunk enough not to be able to figure out that you were locking lips with Evans here when I arrived. By the way, don't call me 'baby' again, Potter, or I'll make you cry like the one you are!"

"I'm not a baby," protested James, completely inarticulate thanks to his decision to employ his stomach as a liquid grain storage facility for all of the nation.

"How come you didn't even have the courage to break up with me before you started making out with other girls, then, huh?" she snorted derisively.

His cheeks the hue of the scarlet flags the Gryffindor supporters had waved at the match that day, James opened his mouth to snap back at her, but he was interrupted by Lily, who, her jade eyes as wide as Galleons, inquired menacingly of the boy she had been kissing a moment ago, "What's this? You told me you had ended your fling with Marlene."

"I―I―" stuttered James, who was plainly horrified at being caught on his fib. "I was going to break up with her tomorrow. I didn't want to ruin the party for her."

"Looks like you did that anyway. You disgust me― stringing along two girls at once." Lily scowled at him for a few seconds. Then, her expression softened and her eyes filled with an earnest plea as they affixed themselves upon the other female present. "I swear, Marlene, I wouldn't have kissed him if I'd known―"

"Whatever. Just shut up, Lily. I don't blame you. You can't help the fact that you're so beautiful that he was in love with you from the moment he laid eyes on you, and you can't be held accountable for the fact that he couldn't keep his filthy hands off you. Heck, you can't even be faulted for the fact that you thought he was handsome and charming, so you couldn't resist him. Neither could I. It's no crime, even if you do get punished for it." Bitterness laced every word of Marlene's comment. "Besides, it's not you that betrayed me, since last time I checked, it wasn't the pair of us who were dating."

Lily made no reply to this assertion, and, after an awkward pause, in which everybody scrutinized the flagstones as an excuse not to meet anyone's eye, James mumbled, "Marlene, I'm sorry. I should have told you sooner―"

"Yep, you should have," seethed Marlene, overriding him, her azure eyes sizzling like a burning ocean. "However, it doesn't matter. I don't give a damn about you anymore, so screw you― not that there's much to screw, if you take my meaning."

Here, she glanced at Remus, and a calculating gleam shone in her drunken, frantic face. "By the way, Potter, you should know that you aren't the only one who can kiss other people. You aren't the only one who can be lusted after by multiple beings."

With that last obstinate contention, she brought her lips, which were warm and softer than Remus could ever have envisioned in his wildest dreams― more tender than the petals of the roses he wished to pour at her feet, and softer than the mattress he longed to collapse on with her to explore her more thoroughly, to discover every niche of her that was more tender even than her lips if such a feat was even possible― to his trembling ones.

At first, no notion of revolt against her swelled within him. She was both willing and demanding, and he could finally do what he had always desired with her. Yet, he recognized with a pang from his conscience, which was the fraction of him that felt terrible when the rest of his body was performing jubilant cartwheels, that he couldn't do it.

He couldn't kiss her or touch her in anything but a platonic fashion while she was in this state. While liquor tainted her breath and flavored her lips and tongue, it would be a crime. Then, he would have betrayed her as surely as James had, and he was no traitor― he was not such coward as all that.

With these stern admonishments circling his brain, he firmly shoved her off him. "Marlene, don't do this," he ordered her jerkily. "You don't even realize what you're doing."

"What?" she gawked at him. "After all these years of pining after me, you push me away! Are you out of your mind, or am I just so repulsive that nobody would want me?"

"Now, you know that's not true," Remus responded. "I'd love to date you, but I can't kiss you now―not when you're drunk and can't really give consent. I'd just be taking advantage of you."

"Come on, don't pretend that men care about anything but sating their lust regardless of how the females are feeling. You'll just embarrass yourself with your outrageous lies," growled Marlene, spinning irately on her heel and hurrying down the corridor as fast as she could in her inebriated condition. "Well, if you Gryffindors don't have the bravery to make a move on me, I'll go visit a Ravenclaw with the wit to do so."

Then, before anyone could halt her, she was gone. After she departed, Lily shook her head reproachfully at James, and, crossing her arms, she demanded, "Will you do that to me?"

"No," James pledged, bending over to bring his lips to hers again. "I love you. I'll never betray you."

"You had better not, or I'll hex you," stipulated Lily before she surrendered to his kiss.

Watching them, Remus sighed, wondering if he had been an idiot to nobly shove Marlene off him. Then, he rolled his eyes in aggravation with his own folly. Of course he had been an imbecile. Anytime one acted in a noble manner, one played the fool. Still, he couldn't be apologetic about it, since it had been the moral thing to do…That didn't mean that he could endure standing here and being reminded of all he would never have an opportunity to share with Marlene any longer, though. After all, there was only so much torment a battered, bruised heart could withstand before it snapped, transforming a person into an utter scumbag.

"I'm going back to the common room," he announced to the two busy young lovers whom he expected were paying as little mind to him at the present as most pupils did during one of Professor Binns' monotonous lectures in History of Magic, not that he faulted them for this. If he could have exchanged kisses like that with Marlene, he wouldn't have given a rat's dropping about the rest of planet, either, as she would have been his whole world, as selfish and provincial as that sounded. "Try not to pass out in the hallway this time, James."

As he pivoted and strode back to the common room, which was filled with a revelry he knew he would not be able to join, he was not amazed when his declaration garnered no reply, and he resigned himself to an evening of reading alone in the dorm, attempting to block out the noise of the rejoicing Gryffindors below him and striving to ignore the blissful multitudes he could never be a part of.

A little less than three weeks later, Remus was studying for his Charms N.E.W.T by the flickering, inconstant light afforded by the roaring fire in the grate and the candles placed on the wobbly wooden table in the common room, when he was interrupted in this enterprise by Marlene, who walked up to him with a taut, purposeful, but anxious expression etched into her every feature.

"Remus, may I talk to you for awhile?" she asked with far more hesitancy than was usual with her.

"Of course." Nodding somberly, the addressed gestured at the chair sitting at the table across from him. "You can speak to me anytime you wish. That's what friends are for, isn't it?"

"But I can't talk to you here," she pronounced, shaking her head resolutely in negation. "I don't want everyone in this school to be privy to what I'm about to tell you by this time tomorrow."

"It's that scandalous?" Remus provided a slight grin in a hope to soothe her nerves a tad as he trailed her across the common room, which, at this time of year, was packed with students laboring alone or in groups to memorize everything that they had learned about that year, and out into the hallway.

"Oh, yes, trust me, it's that scandalous and more," observed Marlene dryly. As she established as much, she walked over to the spiral staircase that led down into the main castle with Remus alongside her, eager to hear what plagued her since she was not one prone to fear, so whatever she had to impart upon him must indeed be dreadful. Yet, she didn't even attempt to discuss what was bothering her until they had stepped out of the castle and onto the grounds.

Since it was an hour or two after the sun had set entirely, the lawn was dark, and they both ignited the tips of their wands like torches so they would not trip as they wandered across the emerald early summer grass.

"Let's go down to the lake," whispered Marlene, and, compliantly, Remus set off with her in the direction of the aforementioned body of water. "It's always so peaceful that it never fails to calm me just a bit. I could benefit from some serenity right about now."

Within a few moments, they had reached the edge of the lake. Once there, they uncovered a rock that was sizeable enough to accommodate both of them relatively comfortably along its shore and settled themselves on the boulder. Still, Marlene did not confide in him immediately, and silence remained between them, so that the only sounds hitting their ears were those of the cresting waves crashing upon the sand before being returned to the lake and the wind blowing off the water, buffeting them both in the face and causing Marlene's hair to whip about her like auburn seaweed.

Finally, Marlene managed to choke out in a voice that was scarcely audible over the pounding, churning waves and blustery wind, "Remus, I'm pregnant."

"What?" he stammered, wishing he could behold more of her facial expressions in the illumination emitted by their wands. "I'm sorry, but you're what?"

"I'm pregnant," she snapped. "That means that I am with child, in case you still are as clueless as a deaf man at an opera."

"But―but how could this happen?" He stared at her as if she had just declared that she was about to give birth to a chimera.

"Well, I can assure you that it wasn't another Immaculate Conception," she answered curtly, drawing her knees up so that they rested under he quaking chin in a posture that he hadn't witnessed her adapt for at least eight years. Perhaps she was cold, he reasoned. After all, with the raging wind, it was rather chilly out now that the sun had gone down, depriving the planet of its heat and luminescence. "I promise you that I'm no Virgin Mary. No, I'm a Magdalene. A Jezebel. A Bathsheba. A bitch. A slut. A whore. Just about every insulting term they toss at females is true of me. Only loose women get pregnant outside of marriage, after all."

"Don't say that," Remus chided her, unable to listen to the woman he loved berate herself so. Chaste or not, he loved her. "The world is quick with its judgments about people but rapid justice is rarely fair. You're no worse than the guy who did this to you, so why don't they call him a host of unpleasant names, too?"

"Because he is a male, and males don't get pregnant," sobbed Marlene. "That means there is no proof that they've done wrong or any consequences for them, so they can just brag on about their conquests and receive slaps on the back while the women they use are disparaged."

"It's not right," was all Remus could reply to this grim statement.

"Nothing is right anymore," she agreed, sniffling. "Everything is a horrible mess, and I don't know what to do."

"You can tell me whose baby it is that you reckon you're carrying," he suggested.

"I _know_ I'm pregnant," grunted Marlene. "When my monthly bleeding never came, I went to see Madam Promfery. After five positive tests, there was no denying it: I'm pregnant with Sean's child."

"Are you sure it's Sean's?" demanded Remus, although Sean and Marlene had been going out since that scene in the corridor after Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup. "It isn't James'?"

"No, I'm not such a whore as you believe," she confirmed tersely. "I only ever slept with Sean, and that was only once, on the night when I discovered James was cheating on me with Lily. I was drunk, and I wasn't thinking. If I was, I would have used a protective charm, but the point was I wasn't thinking― I was feeling. God, Remus, I just wanted to know that I was beautiful and lovable."

"You are," he commented softly.

However, she ignored this as she plunged on, "Sean gave me that feeling. I was reckless. I goaded him on. I told him that he didn't really care about me if he wasn't willing to have sex with me. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't resist that because he did love me, and he wanted to have me more than anything. Love isn't a crime no matter how much it punishes us, or if it is, then everybody except You-Know-Who is guilty of it, and You-Know-Who is hardly a paradigm of civic virtue."

Quiet descended between them for an awkward, stifling moment, then Remus inquired as tactfully as he could, "Did you inform Sean yet?"

"Yes, he's the only one except you, Madam Promfery, and my parents to hear about this from me, although I suspect that he's told Conan by now," affirmed Marlene.

"What did he say when you told him of your situation?" pressed Remus tensely, preparing to dash up to the Ravenclaw Tower and punch Sean where it hurt if he had not treated Marlene properly when she had broken her difficult news to him.

"He was a perfect gentleman. He said that I didn't have to worry― that he believed me when I told him the child was his, and that he'd take responsibility for it, and that he'd do whatever I wanted," she murmured, rubbing her forehead as if she was afflicted with a severe sinus infection. "If I wished, I could abort the baby, although he hoped that I wouldn't because it felt wrong to him to force a child to pay for the sins of the parents. If I wished, he'd send me half of his paycheck when he graduated and had a job, and he could visit the kid if I allowed it over the weekends or whatever. He even said that he would be happy to wed me if I desired to marry him since he had dreamed of having me for his bride ever since he was of an age to develop a crush."

"Well, at least nobody could accuse him of not doing the right thing by you," conceded Remus reluctantly. For some reason, his id screamed that it would have been preferable if Sean had treated her callously and spurned her request for assistance, because then he could have gone on believing that he alone loved Marlene Hayes, he alone deserved her, and he alone could care for her. No, though, it seemed that Sean loved her, was worthy of her splendor, and was glad to champion her.

"Yeah, if you're going to get pregnant out of wedlock, do it with Sean McKinnion. At least he'll behave honorably, and there's a lot to be said for a guy like that." Here, she hesitated, heaved a gigantic preparatory breath to steel herself for bestowing another revelation upon him as if she were about to swim across the Atlantic in mid-winter, before continuing, "That's why I reckon that I'll take him up on his offer for a wedding before I start showing."

"You're going to marry him?" an astonished Remus echoed numbly. "Do you even really love him?"

"Love, what does that even signify?" Marlene sighed as she battled to stumble upon the best manner in which to relate her emotions and ideas. "There are all sorts of love on this planet: love of parents, love of friends, love of―"

"I meant the romantic brand, and you know it," he interjected impatiently.

"Then, yes, I think so," she admitted in a subdued fashion.

"You _think_ so?" he repeated, taken completely aback.

"Well, I don't love him the way I loved James Potter with his arrogance, his pranks, his skill on a broomstick, his rugged good looks, his bravery, and his defiance of conventions. Yet, I do love Sean in a different, more mature way. I love him for his wit, his intelligence, his handsomeness, and his devotion to me," faltered Marlene. "All in all, I reckon we could be merry together, and, in the final analysis, that's all that's worth anything. I figure that now that I have learned how it feels to have your heart ripped apart by someone you love, like James did to me, I'll never wound him again. I've learned the hard way that in love there is always a more powerful partner who owes it to the other not to be cruel, and between Sean and I, that person is me. That's why I'll always be gentle with him, and he'll repay me in kind."

"If you're sure that you'll be happy, then congratulations." Even as the words spilled out of his dry lips, Remus wished that he could muster up more enthusiasm to put behind them because, at the present, he sounded like a youth who had just been informed he was about to be administered a shot.

Luckily, though, Marlene did not seem to detect his noticeable lack of excitement, as she was staring out across the grounds to where the Forbidden Forest rested in the distance. "I've been doing a lot of thinking lately," she mumbled at last. "I've determined that I've brought this situation upon myself. Like everyone else in our generation, I was so keen to grow up, to experience adulthood, to race on ahead, to get drunk, to see the world, and to have sex, that I endangered myself in the process. That's why older people, like my parents, would judge me harshly as being an irresponsible young woman. What they wouldn't comprehend is that I had no choice, and neither did the rest of us. Ever since we were little, we knew that we would never grow old. Even if we weren't killed in the war on one side or the other, we'd be a casualty of it as a bystander. Thus, we recognized that we had to live in the now, or else we'd die without ever having truly experienced what this world has to offer us, and that would be a real tragedy. From the day we were born, we were all like candles fighting to remain ablaze for just one more moment in a pelting thunderstorm, but it was already decided we would all burn out before the ones lit indoors where it was safe, did, and we knew it, and that made us all the more dedicated to living even if we were doomed to die young."

"Maybe we're all Icaruses, then, foolhardy enough to fly too close to the sun in the name of liberty, rebellion, and exploration," mused Remus, reflecting on Icarus, enticed by glory, who climbed with burnished wings to snatch the orb of Helios and cradle it between his palms, and who plummeted to his death. He contemplated how Icarus, beneath the tides of tumultuous centuries, was still entombed sacredly in myth, and how he still reached, crooning fame's Siren song toward the sun, that most brilliant star of all, and wondered how it must have felt when Daedalus' feathers were licked by fire and how Icarus must have felt when the sun's kisses burned his weathered lips. Another thought struck Remus and he added, "Or perhaps we are all little Socrateses, whose questioning lips can't be stilled even by hemlock."

As he established as much, he envisioned unstained hemlock petals, floating amidst a murky oblivion, tantalizing Socrates, their pungent odor, like steaming ambrosia, wafting from a gilded chalice. Then, he pictured Socrates quaffing down poison, purging the reek of mortality from his veins and plunging into the abyss that eventually swallowed everyone whole, his eyeballs jangling out from his frame and his lips still shaped in an inquiry.

"Or maybe we're suicidal bugs who would sooner starve ourselves to death than drink of the world's sweet nectar of lies," concluded Marlene. "Or perhaps we are all and none of these things."

Shuddering at their grim assessments of the destiny of their entire generation, Remus gazed mutely up at the stars above, which were so clear, so piercing, so lovely, and so completely unattainable. Centuries of humans had stared up at the same constellations and longed to touch them, and none of those beings had succeeded. Neither would he. He would live and die, while those stars, so indifferent to humanity, blazed on for millions more years.

After a while, his focus shifted to the sickle moon above, and he noticed how it was much larger and brighter than any of the surrounding stars, which it put to shame with its dazzling radiance. Suddenly, he wanted to remain out here all night, so that he could keep a vigil and uncover whether those stars would ever intensify and that moon would ever dim before dawn shattered the beautiful, apathetic evening.

For some bizarre reason, he did not wish for this night to terminate ever. If it were up to him, he would perch here on a hard, cold stone beside his friend and study the constellations and sickle moon forevermore. Nighttime was splendid, he determined. It whispered seductively only of feather thoughts, unlike the gravid dreams of day that fell and rotted, putrid fruit that lay open-faced to the merciless sun and swelled into a mundane gray. In the darkness, the moon floated like a dusty pearl that he could grasp if only he extended his hand far enough, but he didn't want to, not really.

No, he'd rather wade mulishly through the sky because dark waters were better for drowning in, and a lifetime of breath was not nearly as precious as one second of wind-strangled inspiration that only sun-soaked silence killed. Here, he could mourn tomorrow's bleak sunrise while the world still slumbered on in ignorance and in health, awaiting the arrival of another Socrates to persecute, and the stars combed his velvet yesterdays, sighing of silver-streaked memories that slowly slipped away like water through a clenched fist.

The next instant, though, any semblance of placidness left him as his perspective of the evening altered again. Now, it appeared to him that the moon was screaming in red-rimmed despair, blood surging from its craters to stain a dying Earth. It seemed like it was wailing to souls like his to split open the silent night, to rouse the world, and to shout the truth in every ear of his deaf race.

That was why he could no longer bear to gaze at the moon, he realized, as he lowered his eyes to stare at the sand, so that he wouldn't even have to glimpse its reflection glittering in the lake. His voice was a long-dead star long gone out to rest in the grave of the skies at last. Someone else, moon-minded and with a lunatic world-love, would have to awaken the globe. After only eighteen years, he was already too world-weary to even cry, forcing the moon to keep screaming until somebody else heard its appeals.


	22. Chapter 22

Reviews: Reviewers will earn Irish Soda Bread in commemoration of St. Patty's Day if they remember to request it. Don't worry. I haven't forgotten about the wedding for Marlene and Sean that should take place in about one or two more chapters.

Welcome to the Real World

Then, before Remus could absorb any of it, in a mirage of sunlight and early summer flowers, June swept in, and their N.E.W.T. results and graduation arrived not long after. A few days after graduating from Hogwarts, Remus was to be found striding down a sidestreet off the main thoroughfare of Diagon Alley, his feet clacking loudly against the cobblestones as he checked the numbers posted on the entrances of the shops he passed, searching for number thirteen. Ah, there it was― next to a used broom store. An elegant, scripted sign hung over the doorway like an awning proclaimed: Anwar's Antique's.

Yes, here was his destination. Here was the place where he would most likely toil for the rest of his adult life before he retired, if he got to exist that long, which he doubted, given that he had volunteered to spend his non-business hours fighting You-Know-Who, which was hardly an occupation pursued by those who aimed to survive to see their grandchildren born.

Well, he'd made his choice for better or for worse, and for good or for ill. The die had been cast, and not for the first time, Remus ruminated on the fact that when Caesar had established as much upon crossing the Rubicon, it had been a double entendre. That is, Caesar could have meant the die had landed, and there was nothing that could be done to alter what transpired. Conversely, however, Caesar might have been saying that the die had been thrown, but it was still in the air, and nobody yet foresaw whom it would favor when it touched down.

Shaking his head to clear it of such musings, Remus squared his shoulders and tried to put on an intelligent and unflustered expression on his face as he swung open the door and entered the shop. As he opened the door, a silver bell attached it tinkled, its soft sound echoing in the empty establishment.

The ringing instrument caused an elderly gentleman scribbling a notation in a ledger behind the counter to glance at the newcomer with clever but gentle hazel eyes. "Hello, young man," he greeted Remus, his wheeziness attesting to the fact that the wrinkles that were carved in his features were no fluke. "You must be my new assistant, I presume."

"Yes, sir," answered Remus as firmly as he could. With a burst of willpower, he propelled his legs forward and shook hands with the aged gentleman. "I'm Remus Lupin, and I assume that you're Mr. Anwar."

"That I am," the proprietor confirmed, accepting Remus' outstretched hand and clutching it in his own varicose palm for longer than good manners demanded, squeezing it reassuringly, so that his liver spots were emphasized. "This is you first job, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," affirmed Remus, whose stomach was still coiled like a cobra with nerves.

"Well, don't worry. My last assistant started working with me just after he graduated, as well, and we became very close. He was like the son I never had, and we exchange letters now. He would've stayed longer, but he wanted to see the planet, which is such a noble and educational endeavor that I couldn't in good conscience prevent him. In fact, I sped him on his way with a nice bonus."

"That was charitable of you, sir," Remus stammered, caught off-guard by this gray-haired gentleman's affable sociability. Friendliness in strangers always took him aback. As a cynic, he anticipated no generous deeds from humans who did not have an intimate relationship with him. It was etched in human genetics to be brutal and immoral, after all. Yet, there was an aura of benevolence and an ingenious sort of absentmindedness that engulfed Mr. Anwar that reminded Remus of Dumbledore, which alleviated a portion of his discomfiture with the situation.

"Well, anyway, Remus, I'm delighted that you've come at last, because it's difficult running a store without an assistant," explained Mr. Anwar, pushing his massive, at least three decades old, glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose as he finally relinquished his grip on the hand of the being whom he addressed. "After all, while my granddaughter, Angela, would help me as much as she could when she wasn't busy working at Madam Malkin's, she couldn't perform all the myriad services an assistant could, because she had her job at the robe shop to attend to. Besides, while she's a sweet, pretty, and bright creature, she's a frail one, and that limits the time and effort she can put into a job. She is an angel, but her body is a lot weaker than her soul."

"If we postulate that the soul is eternal as so many religions do, isn't that the case with everyone?" Remus' brow furrowed with bewilderment at his boss' assertion.

"Granted, but when Angela drops by here, you'll comprehend what I mean well enough, young man," declared Mr. Anwar somewhat vaguely, as he scooped up his quill and commenced writing in his records once more. With a wave of his non-dominant hand at a pile of relics on the far end of the counter and another at a bookshelf brimming with parchment, he continued, "You can help me by pricing those objects. Use the notes behind us for reference, and if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask me."

"Very well," he agreed, heading toward the far end of the counter to make headway into his assignment. As he scrutinized a spoon of seventeenth century goblin-manufactured gold, he surprised himself by inquiring in a rush, "Sir, Dumbledore did apprise you of what I am, didn't he?"

Somehow, Remus couldn't bring himself to lie, even by omission, to an individual who was so compassionate and open with him. Perhaps he had learned something from his interactions with the Marauders and Marlene, after all.

"He did." The distant element faded from Mr. Anwar's eyes as he gazed somberly at his younger companion. "Don't fret on that score, lad. I'm the last one to hurl stones at the sick."

"People claim that becoming a werewolf is God's punishment on the depraved," Remus mumbled. "Do you not believe this?"

"What a medieval philosophy." Shaking his head, Mr. Anwar offered a slight smile reminiscent of Dumbledore's. "No, I don't harbor under the delusion that your affliction is a punishment for wickedness. God actually seems to saddle those he loves the most with the heaviest burdens, so they can demonstrate their holiness to the rest of us sinners."

Now, a solitary tear gleamed in Mr. Anwar's eye, suggesting that he was perhaps reflecting on his sickly granddaughter, Angela, and Remus prudently refrained from making any further remarks upon the subject until the day was complete.

That evening, after he departed Anwar's Antiques at a quarter to seven, Remus Apparated to a location down the street from Gideon Prewett's house, where the Order meeting was being conducted that week. Since Dumbledore was convinced that a moving base would be more challenging for You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters to track, the headquarters rotated on a weekly basis among those who owned their own private property.

When Remus knocked on the door and had answered the security question to Gideon's satisfaction, Gideon admitted him into his respectable suburban home. As he followed the burly Prewett brother down the carpeted corridor to the kitchen, where the meeting was about to take place, the noise of a congregation of people chattering, giggling, and forgetting for a handful of blissful moments that they were waging a losing war washed over his ears. The crescendo grew more resounding with every step he took down the hallway with Gideon.

When he entered the kitchen, Remus discovered that Alice Wright, who was holding hands with Frank Longbottom, was present, as were Sean, Marlene, Lily, Professor McGonagall, Sirius, James, and a pale Peter, who was laughing too shrilly at every jest James and Sirius cracked.

There was also a man who appeared to be about twenty, who was hollering down the basement stairs, "And I'll take a bit of that frog's piss you Britons call beer on the rocks. Oh, and by that, I mean on _ice_, buddy."

"I surmise that you'd like it in a glass, as well!" shouted what sounded like Fabian Prewett's voice from downstairs irascibly.

"That would be lovely," the stranger called back in an American accent. "Be careful, though, for I don't want you to sprain your brain with the exertion of such higher order thinking."

Before Fabian could retort, the man pivoted, and Remus found himself staring into the face of someone who possessed the eyes, ears, and a nose that were similar to his cousin Chet's. No, they were identical, which meant that― as impossible as it was― his kinsman had returned to England to battle You-Know-Who and avenge Uncle Brendan's murder.

"Chet?" he stuttered, his mouth agape with astonishment.

"Remus!" Beaming, Chet bounded toward his cousin and clapped him exuberantly on the shoulders. "I was so pleased to hear that you would be attending this meeting, too. You know, I've been wanting to contact you for years, but I was afraid that you'd refuse to have anything to do with me after the way I abused you when we were munchkins. Anyway, why don't you drop by my hotel in London for a meal afterwards? Don't worry― _The Boston Wands_, which I write editorials for, is paying the bill for it."

"You're inviting me to dinner?" Remus repeated, blinking as if he were a stunned elephant.

"Yep, and I hope that you'll accept." Earnestness glistened in Chet's eyes. "I'm a lot less of a bastard than I used to be, as if that requires much, but really, my older cousins smacked some sense into me, and my stepdad was finally able to discipline me with the net result that I've mastered some manners."

"Of course I'll take you up on your offer," grinned Remus, while he and Chet settled themselves in a pair of vacant chairs next to each other, and Fabian emerged from the basement, juggling an array alcoholic beverages in his arms. "I'm short of money since I've only just started work."

"Here I was imagining for a second that you were just enticed by the prospect of catching up with me," chortled Chet, as Fabian distributed the drinks. When he received his, Chet raised his vessel in a mock salute to Fabian, who glowered at him.

"Well, I am intrigued by the notion of learning about who Aunt Mildred been up to," snickered Remus.

"She―" Chet began to update him on his mother's affairs when the doorbell rang, and he was cut off as Gideon hastened to answer the door. The following instant, Dumbledore had strode into the kitchen and crossed over to the head of the table, where he could preside over the proceedings.

"Be quiet, everyone," commanded McGonagall. "Dumbledore is about to speak."

"Right." Chet rested an admonishing finger on his lips, pretending to shush the other members of the assembly. Then, he leaned toward Remus and noted in a stage whisper, "Old, friendless teachers are the worst tyrants, because they are so envious of the youthful and the popular that they trample on any trace of happiness whenever they stumble across it."

"You know, Chester," McGonagall imparted on him crisply, "when Dumbledore initially handed me a copy of your scathing editorial on the despicable conduct of You-Know-Who and his cronies, I was impressed with― to resort to a teenage jargon I detest― the zingers you had managed to pack in, although you insisted on deleting 'u's' in your writing. Now, though, I realize that there was nothing special about your words, as you're that derisive about everything."

"Hey, look here, lady, I lost my dad to Death Eaters, so it's pretty damn personal to me," snapped Chet, banging his fist against the table in his wrath. "A person can feel passionately about multiple things and can go on several crusades, however. I fight my little windmills with my blistering, witty words that will bring the walls of Jericho crashing down in a manner that faith never could. I'm a muckraker. That means I poke fun at just about every social institution and criticize all that is holy. In short, I'm committed to this war as much or more than you are!"

"You don't know what you're talking about, you abysmal fool," barked Professor McGonagall. "You―"

"Minerva." Dumbledore lifted a hand in a pacifying gesture, and she broke off mid-rant, her cheeks rosy with ire. Turning from her to Remus' cousin, he added. "Chet. Save your biting tongues for the enemy. You're both on the same side."

When neither party responded, Dumbledore proceeded levelly, "This meeting shouldn't be too long. Fabian and Gideon, keep me up to date on the internal affairs of the Ministry. Alice, Lily, Frank, and James, please watch to make certain all the Aurors are devoted to catching Dark wizards, not being them themselves. If you require guidance, Mad-Eye Moody will assist you. He couldn't attend this meeting because he is making an arrest, but he's one of us. Remus, guard the Diagon Alley area during the day. If you ever need help, ask Hiram Anwar. Although he is busy tending to his sickly granddaughter, Angela, he sympathizes with us and will support us as best he can. Marlene and Sean, I would appreciate it if you two maintained an eye on the happenings at St. Mungo's and reported to me on them. Chet, write more of those burning articles. Then, maybe more Americans will rally to our cause."

Once everybody had nodded their acceptance of their marching orders, Dumbledore passed out schedules of when they would be patrolling different neighborhoods of British witches and wizards to let the Order know if there was an attack on any of them at any given time. Then, the meeting was concluded as abruptly as it had commenced, and Remus and Chet trailed out of the Prewett household along with the others. As soon as they departed, they Apparated back to Chet's hotel in an affluent sector or London.


	23. Chapter 23

Author's Note: Once again, I'm sorry this chapter is a bit short, but I felt badly about not updating for awhile, so I decided to give you something, even if it isn't that much. Next chapter should be Marlene's wedidng, or at least the preparations for it. Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this even if it is a tad brief.

Reunions

A moment after they Disapparated, Chet and Remus materialized in one of London's more prosperous neighbors. On all sides of them, apartments and businesses glittered against the jet black backdrop of the night. However, one edifice in particular shone out from among the other buildings. It was constructed from a glistening material that appeared to be crystal. Yet, despite the stunning nature of this structure, none of the cosmopolitan Londoners bustling past it on the sidewalks that were still thronging at this hour seemed to detect its existence.

"It's Unplottable," Chet educated him as they twisted a pathway through the multitudes under a halo of illumination emitted from a nearby streetlamp and approached the main entrance of the hotel at which Remus' cousin was staying. As Chet swiped his room card into the slot by the sparkling glass door, he continued, "That, of course, means that Muggles can't see it."

"I know what Unplottable means," Remus grumbled with more than a trace of irritation. Honestly, if Chet was going to be as condescending as he had been when they were both young boys, he wasn't going to tolerate such treatment this time. No, this time he would stand up for himself and leave. Now that he had met the Marauders and Marlene he knew how to defend himself, and there were some prices, such as being patronized, that weren't worth paying for free food. "I had an excellent education, and, even if I hadn't, I would have stumbled across it in my reading."

"Sorry," responded his kinsman, flashing a disarming smile in his direction as the glass door swung open, allowing them admittance into the hotel. "It's one of the nasty habits of being a reporter. One learns to be an absolute pompous bore, because one adapts to writing as if one is aware of the facts that nobody else is privy, too, and one is only being generous to share such insights to the general public by the spoonful."

Remus might have commented dryly that Chet had always possessed a superiority complex the size of Russia so it must not have been too challenging for him to master the craft of belittling readers, but the words snagged in his mouth before they could emerge when his breath was robbed from him. He and Chet had just strode into a cavernous antechamber with a vaulting ceiling with an azure summer sky with white clouds so puffy he longed to employ them as a pillow painted on it.

Gazing about him with all the awe a first year at Hogwarts would display on entering the Great Hall for the first time, he saw that the walls were all wrought from a gray granite imbedded with chunks of rare minerals that glinted cerulean and rose in the light from the golden candelabras spaced throughout the room.

As he and Chet navigated their way through the lobby, winding past coffee tables and leather lounge chairs, a woman behind the costly mahogany consignor desk beamed and waved a greeting at Chet. His grin widening, Chet winked at her before they stepped onto an elevator located at the far end of the lobby.

"Are we going up to your room, then?" inquired Remus, as the doors of the lift slammed shut behind them.

"Nope," replied Chet, punching in the button for the top level of the hotel. "The restaurant is located at the top of the building, providing a spectacular view of the surrounding city."

"I see." While the elevator rocketed upward, causing his stomach to drop several centimeters in his belly, Remus bobbed his head in comprehension.

Five stops later, as hotel guests got on and off the lift at various floors, the two of them exited the elevator and found themselves outside one of the most elegant restaurants Remus had ever seen, nonetheless dined within. The young hostess leaning against the podium beside the doorway to the restaurant straightened and smoothed her skirt as Chet approached.

"Hey, Jessica," Chet addressed her, resting a casual elbow on her podium. "How are you doing tonight, babe?"

"All right. It's been pretty slow here tonight," Jessica stated languidly, twirling a strand of blonde hair around her finger.

"At least you don't rely on tips to live like the rest of the waiters, waitresses, and bus boys," remarked Chet, favoring her with a wink. "So, can you hook us up with one of those really cool tables by the windows? I have a special guest with me tonight."

"I can see that." For the first time, Jessica's green eyes glanced at Remus, although they quickly focused on Chet again. However, Remus didn't mind. He was accustomed to dwelling in the shadows, and he had come to enjoy living in that fashion. All in all, he wasn't someone an eye would center on for very long, but he wouldn't have relished being an attention-receiver. No, he'd leave all the glory of being in the limelight to Sirius, James, and Chet, since they thrived on it, and he would rejoice in his anonymity. Eagles may soar, after all, but weasels did not get sucked into the engines of Muggle airplanes. "I'm sure I can do that for you."

"You're an angel," murmured Chet, as Jessica scooped up a pair of menus from the pile on her podium and guided them into the restaurant, which was illuminated with soft, recessed lighting and decorated with soft, think velvet hangings along three walls. The fourth wall was comprised solely of glass window panes, which afforded an exceptional vista over the packed streets of London with their shimmering edifices and twinkling neon advertisements. Alongside each of the panes, a table was positioned, and Jessica directed them to one that was set up for two.

"And you're a devil, trying to tempt every female you meet into sin," snorted Jessica. As she established as much, she plopped the menus on their table. While Remus and Chet settled themselves in their cushioned chairs, she announced that their server would be with them within a few moments and left them.

For a moment, silence reigned supreme between the two of them, as they examined the menus and determined what they wanted for dinner that evening. After a minute of indecision in which he debated inwardly whether he would rather eat steak or chicken, Remus settled on the steak.

As Jessica had promised, a suited waiter was with them shortly to take their order, and as their server departed with their menus, Chet leaned forward and commented, "I assume you've graduated from school."

"Yes," Remus confirmed, taking a bite of the buttered bread that the waiter had placed in the center of their table before he left them. "I graduated this past June."

"That's what I thought. So, what have you been up to since then, cousin?" pressed Chet.

"You mean, what job do I have?" Remus arched an eyebrow at his kinsman.

"Sure, if that's what you want to tell me." Chet offered a shrug that was remarkably similar to the one that had been his trademark before he had emigrated to America all those many years ago.

"Well, today was my first day as an assistant in an antique shop," explained Remus, as the waiter returned from the kitchen with the bottle of burgundy wine that Chet had ordered for them. "I imagine that I'll like it. At any rate, my boss seems nice."

"That's great," Chet remarked. As he spoke, he poured them each a goblet of wine and raised his to his cousin in a toast. "To your future happiness and success."

"The same to you," responded Remus, lifting his own vessel in a reciprocal toast. When they each had sipped their beverages, he inquired, "I take it you're a journalist now, correct?"

"Yep," Chet affirmed wryly. "Nothing less than a meteor shower escapes your notice, I see."

"It seems like an odd career for you," mused Remus, while the waiter arrived with his steak and his comrade's linguine with clam sauce.

"What do you mean?" Chet frowned, although his companion had difficulty discerning whether the gesture was intended for him or was supposed to convey Chet's resolution to remove the crustaceans from their respective shells.

"You just didn't seem to be into intellectual pursuits when we were younger," elaborated Remus.

"People change," replied Chet, munching on a forkful of clam and pasta. "You certainly have― you're much taller, for instance, but I'll have to hope for smarter."

"And you're still a laugh a millisecond," riposted Remus between consuming slices of steak. "Do you enjoy you're job at the newspaper, then?"

"Of course I do," Chet snorted at the absurdity of the inquiry. "It permits me to disparage everyone, and nothing could be more enjoyable. In addition, I get the opportunity to travel without having to pay out of my wallet for the experience, and I always dreamed of touring the world. Another bonus is that the girls are attracted to men who are journalists, because they assume that we're clever and witty."

"In your case, appearances lie," teased Remus.

"You do begrudge me for how I treated you when we were lads, then," drawled Chet, spearing a clam and popping it into his mouth. "That's why you're bullying me now."

"I'm not bullying you," chuckled Remus, ignoring the fake pout his cousin affixed on him. "Now, I believe you told me earlier that your mother is well."

"When I left the United States, she was going fine, and my stepdad would have sent me an owl if that had altered," Chet declared.

"So, you're mum remarried?" Without waiting for a response he knew would be affirmative, Remus plowed on, "Do you care for him?"

"There's a loaded question if I ever heard one." Reclining back in his seat, Chet whistled softly before resuming, "At first, I didn't like him at all when my mother started dating him when I was nine, and when she wed him when I was eleven, I made every effort to render his life hell on earth. He retaliated by convincing Mum that he should be the disciplinarian, and that only widened the rift between us. However, when I graduated school and began my career, the gulf between us started to narrow. Now, we can even inhabit the same room without shouting at each other, although he thinks I'm an idiot to come to a country where there is a war being waged against You-Know-Who. I reckon that's his way of informing me that he really does love me, and he doesn't want me to perish. It's odd how many peculiar fashions humans devise to demonstrate our affection for one another." Before Remus could choke out an answer to such an interesting perspective on humanity, Chet, flushing with humiliation from revealing so much about himself, grunted, "Well, that's enough about me. I'm not writing a damn article about my lame life. It's your turn to tell me all about Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts was amazing, Chet," pronounced Remus with a simple fervor. "It was everything our parents described it as and so much more."

"Were you a Ravenclaw?" guessed Chet. As he placed this query, the waiter returned, removed their empty dishes, and set the evening dessert a pastry platter on the center of the table.

"No." Shaking his head in negation, Remus helped himself to an éclair. When he nibbled on it, the chocolate coating and the sweet cream piled inside it flooded his mouth, overwhelming his taste buds, and he noted mentally that the pastry was among the best he had ever consumed. "I was made a Gryffindor."

"That's funny," snickered Chet, his words barely comprehensible through the napoleon he was devouring. "I never saw you as the brave and stupid type."

"Yeah, that was always more befitting of you, but they say that the Sorting Hat occasionally makes mistakes," retorted his companion. "Now, I think I've told you enough about Hogwarts. Therefore, you must describe the school you went to for me."

"Oh, it was just like Hogwarts, only it was in America and in a city." Chet waved a dismissive hand as they finished their dessert. As he rose, he slammed down a bunch of Galleons on the table and clapped Remus on the shoulder in farewell. "Our time together has come to a close for now. I enjoyed supper, though, even if I paid for it."

"You said that your newspaper was paying the bill," Remus pointed out as they exited the restaurant and headed toward the elevator.

"Very true," conceded a beaming Chet. The words had no sooner escaped his lips than the elevator arrived and they stepped onto it, hitting the buttons for Chet's floor and the lobby level. "Still, it sounded good. Anyway, I'll see you again at the next meeting, and, if you'd like, we could hang out on the side sometime. After all, we are family, and it's kind of a waste to not communicate with one another for years, like we did last time. I mean, we're fighting for the same cause in this war, and that counts for something."

"I'd like to meet up with you some more." Remus grinned, and stated dryly, "You know, when we were little, it was always me that was chasing after you. My, how the tables have turned, just as Mum insisted they would."

"Maybe I have a lot of bad karma to make up for." With a rueful chortle, Chet shook hands with Remus as the lift halted at his floor. As he disembarked, he shouted over his shoulder, "Take care of yourself, and that's an order."

"Goodbye," hollered Remus, even though he wasn't entirely certain if his kinsman could hear him, since he had rounded a corner and the doors of the elevator were already locking him in again. As he descended toward the lobby, he ruminated on the fact that "Goodbye" was a corruption of the "God be by you", just as the French "Adieu" and the Spanish "Adios" were derived from the phrases of "God be with you." At the moment, he thought that the benediction was fitting, and he only hoped that it would be more effective as a protective charm in this battle against You-Know-Who than it had been as a ward of the plague for the peasants. After all, he didn't desire to lose his cousin so soon after he had discovered him once again, especially now that Chet was more open with him, and Remus still yearned to find out what occurred in the mind of his secretive kinsman.


End file.
